


Birds of a Feather

by SnowF



Series: For reasons wretched and divine [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And Tywin's one of the main character so, Book & show, Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Enemies, F/M, Forced Marriage, Graphic Description, House Arryn matters, I mean this is ASOIAF right?, Literal game of thrones, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Non-Canonical Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, OC, Political Alliances, Prisoner of War, Pro-Stannis Baratheon squad, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scheming, War, age gap, political scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-10-19 12:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 38
Words: 137,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowF/pseuds/SnowF
Summary: Many things are said of house Arryn and its members' honour. Is it not their motto, after all? As High as Honour... Fewer things are said of the house's heiress, Shara Arryn, for fear that she might hear them and retaliate.Witted Shara Arryn, treacherous Shara Arryn, whose schemes only led to the Red Keep's cells after the disaster of the Battle of the Blackwater. She should have died there, forgotten of all, but a victorious Tywin Lannister has other plans for her.But it takes more than a gilded cage to stop a falcon from flying away.





	1. Yes, she does

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: This fictions starts little time after the Battle of the Blackwater (season 2 for the show watchers / ACOK for the book readers). It partially follows the canon after that, and gradually completely divert from it. You're warned.
> 
> A/N: Shara Arryn is an OC, so obviously she is not canon-compliant. Please excuse any syntax or spelling mistakes - this is a translation for a fiction originally written in my mother language (French). As it has been written quite a few years ago, I will post a chapter per week until it is done. Hopefully you will appreciate it, and if you do, please do not hesitate to leave a comment or two.

The bride was sitting on a very refined armchair in front of a very refined mirror and surrounded by very refined gifts. Jewels, gems, paintings, expensive fabric embroidered with gold and silver, vases, dresses, tiaras, furniture made of the finest wood and materials. All these wonderful gifts were for her and her only. They came from everywhere, from Essos to the Reach, from Oldtown to Riverrun, and they had been sent by every house of Westeros, the smallest and the biggest, the southern and the northern… But not all of them. _What a surprise,_ she mused, bitterly.

And the bride was also surrounded by a swarm of maids who hummed around her, pulled her hair, twisted some strands of it, pinned some on her skull, braider, straightened, curled, asked questions but expected no answer, railed against each other, against her hair, the way she was sitting, whining about the time that was flying. And the bride was waiting for them to be done.

She stared at herself in the mirror, at her light blond hair skilfully braided all around her head in a very complicated tangle of strands and swirls, at her sky blue eyes. Their severity, hardness and their coldness made her reputation, but they were nothing but weary, lost in their own reflection at this moment. Even with all the rouge and the blush on her cheeks, she looked distant, too distant for a bride.

She was asked to stand up and climb on some sort of a made-up pedestal – a chest, actually. She obeyed and it distracted her from her thoughts. Much like an apathetical doll, she let them pull the underskirt on her, and the dress, and the coat. She had no idea what it looked like; she had not chosen the dress, as she had not chosen the wedding itself. Neither did she choose the gifts, the guests or the place. _Or the husband._ She barely reacted when her swarm of bids of ill-omen pulled the laces of her corset.

 

“My Lady, if I may say so, you are… You are splendid,” one of them dared tell her. “This dress is incredible.

\- Is it now?

\- It really is.” She evidently did not realize that she could care less about the dress and continued her verbiage. “What jewels do you want to wear? Maybe rubies, to match the embroideries…

\- Have I received sapphires?”

 

The maid suddenly looked uncomfortable, and stammered that she did not know but maybe it would be wiser, well, maybe not wiser, but maybe it would be more suitable… That her Lord future husband would not appreciate, that she was to wear red… She raised an eyebrow and waited for the endless explanations to end to step down the chest, much to the discontent of the other maids, to walk to the table where they had put the jewels she had been sent. She refrained from smirking.

They were made of gold and rubies, all of them. Some had dared send diamonds, there was a emerald necklace – the Tyrells, undoubtedly, but there was no sapphire. Nothing blue. Gold and red, and a tad of black. She kept still, admiring the spending picture it all made. _I hate red._ She opened one of the boxes left unopened. Most of them contained pins and combs. Still nothing silver or blue. They had anticipated everything, or at least they had made sure she wouldn’t try one last time to rebel.

 

“My Lady, your husband wishes you to wear this,” the oldest of them told her. She had never seen her and she probably was not at her service directly. _A spy._ She was holding a ruby necklace. Painfully red, obviously. “He deems…

\- I am pleased to know what my Lord _future_ husband deems suitable, but I wish to wear… This.”

 

She seized a pearl necklace in its box and handed it to her. There was some sort of a flexible tiara made of the same pearls in the box and she took it with her as well. She placidly sat in front of the mirror again and felt the embarrassment of the maids around her. She repeated her order. She would wear the pearls. It was the less red thing she could wear.

When she eventually saw herself in the mirror, she discovered the dress she was wearing. The women were stupid, but they were no liars: it was a marvel. All of crimson and gold, it was composed of a pearly white dress covered with golden embroideries figuring flowers, roses probably, and of a coat made of a heavy red brocade. The bodice was embroidered with the same pattern as the dress and the neckline was crimped with small golden pearls. The whole dress was so unwieldy that she could barely sit at all.

The ruby necklace she should have worn would obviously have turned the outfit in a work of art. It was the point, that and making sure she understood how tight her husband’s grip on her was. But he should have expected her to resist and refuse. She had accepted too much already, and it was almost a miracle that she was there, dressed like an actual princess on her wedding day. And maybe she _was_ a princess on her wedding day, after all.

 

“It is such a pity, my Lady, that you won’t wear the necklace Lord…

\- I thank you for your kind advices,” she snapped back. “But I asked for none. I will wear the pearls.

\- But the Lord…

\- The Lord will probably be very upset when I am late at the sept, and will probably be even more if he happens to learn that it is because of a stubborn and brash maid.”

 

She turned her head to her and stared at her for a few seconds. She eventually bent to her will, both literally and figuratively, and put the pearls around her neck. They were softly cold on her skin and she brushed them as other maids were placing the tiaras on the top of her head. It was not that bad, after all. Maybe it was better. Less bombastic. More distinguished.

She nodded and stood up. She grabbed the grey cape that was hanging on the bed’s frame and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was too late to ask for the nuptial cape of her house, so they had found some grotesque ersatz. It looked awful on her wonderful dress, like a grey mistake. _Hm. Convenient._ The maids left her room and were replaced by Kingsguards all dressed in white. She repressed a shiver. The same men that had thrown her into a cell barely a week before were now escorting her to the sept. She did not look at them and silently walked to the carriage that would bring her to the Great Sept of Baelor where the entirety of the Court and a few selected guests were waiting for her. And her husband too.

As a child, she had tried to imagine what her wedding would be. She had been raised to consider it as a purely political event, she had never been taught that it could be anything else than a marriage of convenience, something useful to her house and the kingdom alike. Even as a young girl, as most men and women praised her blooming beauty, she had never let any of them petty noblemen woo her. She never listened to her step-mother’s nonsensical blabbering about love and its magic.

And she’d grown up into a woman at her father’s side, a father that never showed anything more a friendly at best, political more probably, interest in her and who, by way of an education, drowned her in books and stories about her house’s upmost honour. He had shaped his daughter as he would have shaped his son if he’d had the time to do it, never letting the time nor the chance for what is usually a girl’s education to actually influence her. No sweet tales, no songs, no sewing but many books, political teachings and honour-based tales.

But even then, even knowing that she would never have anything more than a useful marriage, she had never imagined it would be like this. She had never imagined she would be locked in a carriage to bring her forcefully to the sept, and she had never imagined she would have not say in the matter. It was not the only thing she had never imagined, though. _Maybe unimaginable things happen lately._ A king was dead, others struggled for power and she had been playing with fire thinking it would never burn her. She was reaping what she had sown, nothing more, nothing less.

When they reached the sept, it took her a second to actually climbed down the coach. The building was incredible with its immense towers and its domes. A crowd had gathered around the place and was looking at her in an almost reverent silence. It was not respect – it was shock. The battle of the Blackwater only happened a few days before, and the Court already threw a costly party to marry its most beautiful dove. _Its most beautiful falcon._

She entered the building with a slow yet decided step. She would not offer them the pleasure of her discomfort. She had chosen this marriage, even if it was nothing close to an actual choice. She had chosen life over death. A choice her father would have frowned upon, but her father was dead. The circular room was crowded and every eye was on her. She did not look back and continued to walk the same.

She stopped when she noticed Joffrey – _King Joffrey,_ she corrected herself, walking toward her with a crooked smile. She tensed and raised her chin even higher than it already was. He offered her his arm and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Your father is gone and as the father of this realm, it is my duty to give you away to your husband,” he declared with a toothy grin. “How strange it is for a king to marry his grandfather.

\- It surely is, your majesty.”

 

She had replied with a listless voice and took his arm without realizing. She climbed down the stairs trying not to trip on her train and on the tiny king who looked only too happy to walk her down the aisle. He was smaller than she is and she had to bow a little not to give away the feeling that _she_ was walking him down the aisle. The ridicule of the situation was not lost on some noblewomen who hid a smile behind their hand or a fan. Most of them were dead silent, respectful and probably terrified.

Not of her, of course. Of her husband who was waiting for her next to the High Septon, so still that he almost looked rigid. His house’s nuptial cape was folded on his arm and it would replace the hideous grey sheet she was still wearing. The king left when she reached the altar’s steps and she climbed them alone. She could feel the heavy gaze of Queen Cersei on her back, she had no need to turn back to know she was weighing her up. She stopped in front of her future husband and turned to face him, noblesse oblige.

They exchanged a long stare, heavy of meaning but empty of any feeling whatsoever. They both knew why they were here, he because she had tried and succeeded in rising against the throne, her because she had eventually burned herself while playing with fire. She had managed to waltz on the Lannisters’ claws without falling, until the point where they pulled her to their fangs. The worst of them had closed the trap on her and forced her into this unnatural union of a Lion and a Falcon.

 

“Your majesty, your majesty,” the High Septon declared while saluting Joffrey and Cersei. “My lords, my ladies. As we stand here in the sight of gods and men, I solemnly declare that the Lord Tywin Lannister and the Lady Shara Arryn are husband and wife.” He paused in an uncomfortable manner. _He changed the speech,_ she noted. He turned to Tywin and continued. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.

\- With his move, I take you for my lady and wife.

\- With his move, I take you for my lord and husband.”

 

Their two almost hoarse voices had risen, echoing one another, in the great rotunda of the sept. There was no kiss, no move, she just turned to feel the cape slip on her shoulders and be replaced by the heavy Lannister’s velvet cloak. She shivered and closed her eyes for a second. _So this is how a caged bird feels._ The feeling was terrifying. She would have to get used to it.

She did not react at first when she felt his hand on her arm, then understood that she had to face the crowd. She discreetly stepped away from his grip as the crowd underneath applauded. The queen’s eyes had not left her; if her eyes had been actual flames, she would have died a couple of times already. She was the only child of her husband to be there, actually – Tyrion was bedridden, seriously wounded, and Jaime was still nowhere to be found. She was the first to walk to the _happy couple_ to congratulate them, barely hiding the hatred she already felt for the young bride.

And she was only the first of an unending list of noblemen and noblewomen to commend the _young_ couple. She only answered with pleasantries, without really distinguishing the noblest ones from the least, letting Lord Lannister deal with their sensibilities. She waited for the ordeal to be done to step into another carriage to head back to the Red Keep. Her eyes on the small window, she did not try to talk to what was now her husband. It took very, very long minutes for him to break the silence that was now lingering.

 

“I am pleased to see how finely the dress becomes you.

\- It is wonderful,” she replied without faking interest. “Thank you.

\- You are not wearing the necklace.

\- No, indeed.”

 

She slowly turned her head toward him. His face did not express any particular emotion, no annoyance, no anger, no surprise. _It would mean he can feel any of these._ He sustained her gaze for a long time before looking away as well and ordering the riders to hurry. Outside, the population’s frustration sounded like a dull hum that turned more threatening as they crossed Flea Bottom than it must have been weeks ago when princess Myrcella left for Dorne. She was not there, she had stayed in her Red Keep apartments to finish the preparatives for the Blackwater Bay’s battle. She had seen the turmoil, though, from her window. And the fire that followed. He most likely did not want his kind of… _Problems_ to happen during his marriage.

If she was obviously the focal point, not only because of her dress, her beauty or her reputation but also because of the recent events, he was not undone either. If she were to be perfectly honest, she would have admitted that he did present a fine image in his display costume. He was still broad-shouldered, tall and rather slender and only his baldness reminded that he was getting close to sixty years of age. His beard and sideburns were still of a golden blond and his green eyes still shone forcefully. _A pity to be his wife only to avoid the gallows._

“May I ask why?

\- I did not want to. I believe I wear enough red and gold to please you.

\- It would be wise to get used to it,” he reminded her, still looking outside. “Red and gold are now your colours.

\- The same could be said of the whole realm then.”

 

She authorized herself a small smile and turned her head to look outside as well. The City Watch hardly managed to keep the crowd at bay. The atmosphere had dramatically changed since she had left the Keep and now she was coming back. After all, the people may not know her but they knew Tywin Lannister and the queen. And they hated them both. Weeks ago, this hatred was an asset – now she was on the same line of sight. _Shara Lannister,_ she repeated silently.

She would get used to the red and gold, she would get used to the hatred against her _adoptive family_ and perhaps she would even come to appreciate her position – who knew? But she was quite certain that she would _never_ get used to the Lannister name. She was born an Arryn and she shall die as an Arryn. _As high as honour._

When they reached the castle’s inner court, she refused the help she was offered and climbed down the car on her own. They were the last to arrive, as was customary for the wedded couple. The feast was to take place in the Great Gallery where the whole court could fit. Staged had been set up for the few entertainers Tywin Lannister had authorized to entertain the guests. Knowing how terribly he despised any kind of joys, she was certain he only allowed the bare minimum and he had not been the one to choose them.

She waited for him to slip her arm under his and enter the huge reception room. Another round of applause greeted them, quickly quieted by the musicians. She sat at the head table near the kind and next to her husband. There was no speech, no raucous laughter, no coarse banters. It was the wedding of the Hand of the king, the Lion of Casterly Rock, not some petty nobleman with a dubious sense of humour. _It is not even a proper wedding._

She looked around, not really searching for any kind of comfort – she would find none, but searching for anything that could have changed since she had been thrown into a cell. Sansa Stark was still there, seating near the kind, her face somber and covered with bruises. All the rouge of this world could not hide what her betrothed put her through. She did not know the girl that well but she couldn’t help pitying her. She had believed in Joffrey’s kindness, like many before and after her. Poor girl. Her father had made the greatest of his mistakes the day he accepted to replace her father as Hand of the late king Robert. She had made the greatest of her own when she had accepted to marry the prince of yesterday, the kind of today.

 _Not the actual king,_ she mused while looking at her husband. He did not smile, did not talk, did not look at the artists who frolicked in front of them. There were too many things to do to enjoy anything, apparently. Well, she couldn’t deny it. Maybe in others circumstances she would have been too busy leading troops… Or at least sending information to those who actually led them.

 She did not realize she was not eating anything, merely pricking pieces of meat, vegetables in her plate without ever eating them. She was not hungry. She only wanted one thing: this day to be over and to be done with this mascarade. Maybe a bit of alcohol would have made things more acceptable but she did not feel like getting drunk.

She was torn out of her thought by Petyr Baelish standing in front of her. She blinked and tilted her head as he was respectfully bowing in front of her Lord husband. _Imbecile._ She offered him her hand that he kissed with distinction, before he stood up and crossed his arms behind his back.

 

“Lord Baelish,” she said with a forced smile. “I hope you appreciate the revels.

\- I do, my Lady. The dishes are exquisite and the music… Hmm, sweeter than all these Dornish wines.

- How delightful.

\- And I, my Lady, am delighted to see you like this. I must admit I was quite worried for you, alone in your cold cell. What a surprising… Shift in your situation to see you there, more beautiful than ever.”

 

She tensed, imperceptibly. Tywin had lost interest in his advisor and was talking to a bowing, all-smiles Mace Tyrell. These sycophants sickened her and Loard Baelish, Master of coin, was the worst of them all. His crooked smile, both obsequious and sarcastic, only called for one thing: a slap. Too bad it was neither the place nor the time.

She let her smile widen, refusing to bow before this gods-forsaken bird’s innuendos. He was her vassal and he paraded in front of her as if he was just as powerful as she was. Her wounded honour called for justice but she simply smiled, because it was all she could do. Smile and retain her dignity before humiliation.

 

“It really is,” she simply replied. “You no longer are the only one to have risen in a… Surprising manner.

\- I fear that our situations are not comparable, though. I am but the heir of a minor house who became Master of coin, you… You are nothing less than the heir of house Arryn, rebel in her spare time, who became the wife of one of the most powerful men of this world in lieu of wife of a chopping block.

\- Indeed.” She closed her eyes for a second and chuckled. “And how… Do you think the most powerful man of the world would react if her wife’s honour were tarnished by a petty nobleman of the Vale?”

 

His smile flickered and he nodded. Verbal jousting was his stock in trade but he always managed to stay in his comfort zone. It may just have been an idle threat – she had no idea how Tywin would react, really. He did hold onto his honour more than anything else, and his family’s honour even more so, but she was not part of his family. She was an added piece and a barely useful one at that. But Baelish did not insist and bowed before vanishing in the crowd.

Her eyes followed him and she let herself slip into a contemplative apathy. Somehow, he was not wrong. Her presence here was surprising and it was an understatement. Something had happened, something that had convinced Tywin Lannister that this traitor to the crown should not be killed and should even be integrated to house Lannister. She had no idea what this something was, since no one knew or wanted to tell her. _Maybe no knows must know._ She doubted he even told anyone anything about her, except that she had to be taken out of her cell and brought to the surface.

 

“You dismissed Lord Baelish,” he noted once Lord Tyrell was gone to his table. “Why?

\- He had things to do, I did not dismiss him.

\- I am not deaf. I heard what it was all about.” He brought his glass to his lips while observing the guests. “You already use my name to protect yourself. It did not take you long.

\- I spared you a painful conversation with a flattered. You should thank me.”

 

She turned her head to him. His face did not moved and he pretended not to have heard anything. He stood up and apologized, declaring he had to talk to a member of the small Council. She nodded and lowered her eyes on her plate. It was filled again – with fish, this time. Aware that the whole Court was staring at her, she eventually accepted to taste what she was given.

The dish was delicious but she found no pleasure in it and lost herself again in the audience’s contemplation. She caught the regent queen’s attention and, cut to the quick, she stood up too and walked to her. She had a light smile on her lips when she reached the table. She was going to bow before her when she felt fingers under her chin.

 

“Stand up, will you? It seems we are now family.”


	2. Caged Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say I would post one chapter per week? I sure did and, well, I changed my mind. I'll post them when I can, I don't think I'm patient enough to wait a full week between each chapter.
> 
> @Armansky1, fate is clearly not in her favour - fate can turn, though.

“I would not pretend to be part of your family, your highness,” she replied with a careful voice. “It would be quite improper.

\- It is good to see you know your place… Even if it should be in prison.”

 

Cersei Lannister’s voice was all sweetness and light to hide her venom and her hatred. She kept her eyes lowered. She was dangerous enough back when she knew nothing about her, back when she thought she was nothing but a cold noblewoman – now that she knew exactly who she was and what she was eager to do, she had no doubt left about that. She could not hide behind a mask of politeness and nobility; she was branded as a traitress who could have unseated the king and his family.

 _Emphasis on could have._ It would have taken a few more days, maybe even just a few more hours, and she would have succeeded. Everything would be much different then. Maybe she would be marrying still, in this wonderful gallery surrounded by the whole Court, but not with this man. And she would not be trying to avoid this woman’s ire. When she raised her eyes, she saw nothing but the queen’s threatening eyes.

 

“Know that you shall never be a Lannister,” she continued with a smile. “And that you are not deceiving anyone.

\- Your majesty?

\- You are nothing. This… Marriage would not have been vainer if my father had wedded a chambermaid. You may bear its name and wear its crimson, it will never be yours.

\- Your highness, I think you misunderstood,” she replied with the sweetest voice she could utter. “I leave you this name with great pleasure. You do not seem to ever have left it anyway.”

 

She regretted her remark as soon as she saw the queen’s eyes shining wildly. She raised her chin and kept still and proud. She would not avoid what was to come – at least she would endure it with dignity. She was almost surprised to see her walking around the table, an everlasting smile on her lips, to meet her behind said table. She opened her arms and pulled her.

She felt her nails clawing on her naked shoulders in a very painful way and gritted her teeth. Eyes staring into space, she put a hand on the queen’s shoulder, imagining what would happen if she was this threatening with her. How could anything worse happen? It was too late to get rid of her. What a disgrace it would be for house Lannister!

 

“Listen to me very carefully, witless girl,” she whispered at her ear. “Do not believe that this farce gives not any right to address me like this. I am the queen, Lord Tywin Lannister’s daughter and you… You will never be anything more than a failed traitor, forsaken by failed traitors.

\- You seem to know much about the future, your majesty. Maybe you should have conveyed these information to your brother before the Battle?

\- You little…”

 

She stepped away and raised her hand as to slap her. She did not move, did not blink. But she froze and the slap never came. She followed the direction of the queen’s eyed and crossed her father’s – her husband’s. He was staring at Cersei and, this time, his face did express something. An annoyance, verging on anger.

The queen stood up and smiled again before leaving the head table and heading back to her son. Shara took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a second. When she looked around, she was almost surprised to see that no one seemed no notice anything, busy with their food, laughter and blabbering. She slowly sat again and took her own glass to her lips, hoping Tywin would not say anything.

And he did not. He buried himself in silence and resumed his meal as if nothing happened. She resumed her nibbling, wishing more than ever for her this joke to end. Lost in her thought, she did not even realize that the dishes were passing before her eyes, that the entertainers were trying to entertain her. She applauded automatically when the others guests did, smiled and answered with single words when someone came to talk, but she was simply not there.

And the end of the nightmare eventually came. The night had come outside while inside the guests were on the brink of implosion. A very alcoholic implosion. The brouhaha was such that she could barely hear the music. _The rains of Castamere,_ she recognized. It is only when Tywin stood up that silence came suddenly back and woke her up from her trance. He looked at her and she understood that she was to stand up as well.

It was customary for a wedding that men and women joined and carried the bride and the groom to the nuptial room, stripping them of their clothes until they reached the door uncovered as in the day of their birth. But this wedding was not like any other, this wedding was not even one and it involved Tywin Lannister. So when he bowed before the audience, announcing that he was leaving, no one moved except maybe the noblemen that were on his path.

No one but her followed him through the whole Red Keep to the Tower of the Hand. She knew the place, she had spent her whole childhood and young years her – her whole life, really. She lived in the apartments just next to her father’s, those who had the greatest view of the castle and, just after the Eyrie, the greatest view of Westeros. The balcony overlooked the Blackwater bay and the harbour underneath.

She very seldom entered her father’s – the Hand’s apartments. She had been there most often while Eddard Stark held the position, if only because he tried to understand what was happening in the capital and needed her to help. And still; she had been restricted to the antechamber the both men used as their working room. Apparently the idea did not suit the current Hand since the antechamber had been left mostly vacant.

Everything was inside the actual room and the bed had been pulled to a corner. The rest of the room was used to get through the considerable amount of work that went with the position of main advisor of the king. A huge table occupied most of it, and it had been re-decorated – lions were everywhere and threatened any visitor with their fangs and claws, no matter where they stood. _Charming._ Even her father had not been this bombastic in his own pride. There were only a few blue and white hangings here and there.

 

“Are you planning on staying by the door all night?” he eventually asked her, seating at his desk by the candles. “Sit.”

 

She did not discuss and obeyed. She was not born yesterday and she knew exactly what was to happen this night. She also knew that the Court was probably whispering, imagining, guessing what was going to happen. And she also knew that it was quite strangely the moment she feared the less because, for the first time in days, she knew what would happen and how it would happen. She was not as pure and delicate as her appearance suggested. _Knowledge is power,_ Baelish repeated. Her father would have agreed, but maybe not to this point.

 

“Very well, let us enjoy these few moments of peace to set up a few rules, shall we?” he continued. “Propriety wants us to share a room. Logic, however, wants me not to wish for your presence more than it is strictly necessary. You will spend you time away from this room, which means either in your former apartments and elsewhere. Under guard, obviously.

\- _Obviously_

\- You will constantly be escorted by a man of my own guard when you are not in your apartments. When it is the case, this guard will be posted in front of your door and will check on you regularly.” She felt like a soldier receiving order and couldn’t help smiling. He turned silent. “Is there something amusing?”

 

She shook her head and smiled even more. This situation was ridiculous, this whole day was ridiculous. It made no sense. All these orders, these precautions turned her into a prisoner – exactly what she was back in the Keep’s cells. The one and only difference is that she could parade in the whole castle pretending to be free and happy to be… While being followed by a soldier with the express order to kill her if she tried anything. It was all ridiculous. And beyond understanding.

 

“Why did you take me out of my cell and marry me if only to lock me in again? You did not need this… Mascarade to keep an eye on me.

\- I need not to justify my actions,” he retorted with a scathing voice. “You will only have access to your balcony in the presence of a guard. You will only receive and send ravens once per week. Your correspondence will be read and checked and will be limited to necessary exchanged regarding the Vale. Am I clear?

\- Crystal clear.

\- Know that these measures will only remain as long as your behaviour is exemplary. You shall be sent to Casterly Rock at the first doubt, and you will spend the rest of your days locked in there.” He paused. By the candles’ light, his face looked even more angular. “By doubt, I mean any suspicious correspondence, action or exchange.”

 

She nodded. What else could she do? He seemed to consider that these measures were a special treatment she was granted. And it was probably the case; she was free within the Keep, free to talk with everyone (at long as they were not _suspicious_ ), free to remain or not in her apartments. Like a bird in a very big cage.

But a cage all the same. It was shiny, it was golden, but it was a cage and for now she saw no way to part the bars. This man would never bend, never soften. He would never trust her. She would never escape him. She lowered her eyes and bit her lips to stop smiling. A poor cynical and cruel smile. She heard him resting against the back of his chair. He was waiting for a reaction. And she kept him waiting indeed.

 

“Are you expecting me to thank you, Lord husband?” she asked without losing the composure. “Know that I am not planning to do it.

\- You are too smart to think it would soften me so, no, I was not expecting it.

\- You ascribe intentions motives to me that I ignore.

\- Come now,” he let out, frowning. “I think we know enough about each other to know that lying is a waste of time.”

 

 _We do._ She crossed her hands on her dress and did not react. No smile, no amused look, no nod. Nothing. They were not bantering. He was enunciating the conditions of her custody and she was accepting them. They were not allies. They were not partners. She was his foe and he made sure she would stay under control as long as necessary.

But he also knew that it does not take a cage to stop a bird from singing. She was no common bird. She already managed to slip between way more dangerous cages than the one he was putting her into. And she was not afraid of the consequences – the consequences had to be real for that. Being locked in there or Casterly Rock made no difference, except that being far from him meant that she could try more things. News were slow in times of war.

 

“Since we can be so perfectly honest, you must know that it is not common for Arryn to quit the fight and your… Threats of custody in Casterly Rock are not scaring me.

\- Of course you don’t. I hoped I would not have to deal with such an unpleasant subject this early, but since you seem to be keen to talk about it…” His gaze, intense, did not leave her. “If ever these doubts turned into certainties, you will go where you should have gone. To the gallows.

\- You would heap opprobrium on your house by executing a Lannister?

\- Smart and yet not enough. This marriage will not be real so long as it is not consummated, my Lady. And it will not be until further notice.”

 

She froze. Of course. A non-consummated marriage is a void marriage. An annullable marriage. A marriage that could have never existed. Cersei was right: she was not a Lannister and she would not be unless strictly necessary. Her head was still on the chopping block. _Until further notice…_ She would never manage to seduce this man, at least not in a conventional way. She would never managed to force him to consummate the marriage – and she was not sure she wanted him to.

She would have to be patient and cautious and to accept that she would never delude him. But every man has a weakness and she would find his own. It was a matter of time. _Now I have to pray for the world not to crumble in the meantime._ Right?

She seldom felt this unsafe. It was like standing on a tightrope above a gigantic void – and she had good knowledge of void, she lived in the Eyrie. She eventually nodded. If he was satisfied by her reaction, he didn’t tell, and lowered his eyes on the papers that littered his desk. She looked at them for a second. Most of them looked like bills, debt cancellations. The rest were unsealed letters. Congratulations.

She turned her head and looked around. The room was empty, especially compared to the filled to the rim room she had been prepared in. There was no gift in there, except maybe a sword, rested against the back of a chair. It was a longsword, judging by its look. The sheath was made of a light leather but she could not tell its exact colour in the dark. But the pommel… She felt her throat tightening. It was a falcon’s head and, as a guard, two metal wings. Without the sheath, she would have seen long curls of silver figuring the clouds that surrounded the Vale’s mountains. It was her father’s sword.

She stood up slowly under Tywin’s eyes and got closer. She would have grabbed the sword when he grabbed her wrist and blocked it against his chest, forcing her to face him. Her distress turned into anger and she struggled to escape his grip. He did not release her and put himself between the sword and her. Ensnared in her dress, she could barely move and eventually gave up when she understood she was only exhausting herself for nothing. His grip was powerful, more than she would have imagined for a man his age. _I still forget he is nothing like a man his age,_ she remembered.

 

“This sword belongs to you,” she let out with a raucous voice. “It belongs to house Arryn.

\- Then it does not belong to you.

\- You have no right to…

\- You people of the Vale have a curious way of thinking,” he remarked. What looked like a cruel smile floated on his lips. “You do not mind that much being under my yoke, but when it comes to a mere sword…

\- It is _not_ a mere sword.”

 

She raised her chin. He sustained her gaze for a while before letting her go. Her wrist was still painful but she pretended she felt nothing. She tasted bile in her mouth when Tywin Lannister seized the handle and took the sword out of its sheath. By the golden light of the candles, it shined in a blinding way.

He turned and returned it with the eyes of an appreciator, inspecting every single of its angles as if he was to buy it. Shara’s whole being quivered at the thought that _his man_ could use _this sword._ It belonged to Jon Arryn, to her father, and it was her birth right. Maybe it belonged to her little runt of a brother, holed up in the Vale with his idiotic mother. But it would never belong to the Lannisters. He caught her venomous gaze and only answered with a rictus, putting the sword back on the chair.

 

“A beautiful sword. Balanced, heavy enough to be used in combat and yet light enough to be manoeuvrable,” he noted while going back to his seat. “You father had a sure taste. What is its name?

\- I need not to tell you.

\- It is true. Maybe I could rename it, then? What would you say about… Doomed? It seems it brought no luck to its first owner… And no more to its second.

\- …” She clenched her fists. She could not let him. She could not let it happen. “Celestial. Its name is Celestial.

\- Celestial it is, then.”

 

He nodded and went back to his letters, sorting them out without really minding what they were about. He would simply have others write letters of appreciation to every Lord who took the time to congratulate him. To those who did not – the same, actually, as those who did send gifts, he would offer a continuing war. Too bad that the North still resisted, that his armies were bogged down in the Riverlands and that, because of her, most of Stannis Baratheon’s forces had been spared from the disaster that the Battle of the Blackwater should have been.

He looked satisfied and she reluctantly looked away from the sword. Patience. She needed patience. She did not have the time to way, but she would have to find it. She was Stannis’ informant; without her, he could not know what was going on in the capital. Obviously he had heard about what happened to her and she could only hope that he would not make every choice Tywin Lannister wanted him to make.

 

“You should go to sleep,” he interrupted her line of thoughts. “The ceremony for our victory over Stannis Baratheon will take place tomorrow and the celebrations will last until the next week.

\- For someone as austere as you, you surely go heavy with celebrations.

\- Do not figure I take any pleasure in it. Summon a chambermaid to help you change.

\- Here?

\- Until proven otherwise, spouses share a room.”

 

He raised his eyes on her to motion the braided cord that hung from the ceiling. She pulled it and waited for barely a minute before two maids entered. They opened the screens to isolate the _actual_ room from Tywin’s office. She did not know them – the ones that worked for her must have been relocated, if not worse. Without a single word, they helped her take away every part of her dress and patiently undid every each one of her braids. The reflection in the mirror gradually looked more and more like her, until the entirety of her hair had been stripped off its jewels, twists and pins, and until her skin had been cleaned off its makeup.

She dismissed the two women once they were done storing the dress and stayed in front of the mirror for a while, looking at herself. Her blood was twice Arryn – she was the daughter of her father’s second wife, one of his cousins. She died during labour and everyone told her it was a miracle that she survived. It was very much less of a miracle that her first years had been simulatenous to Robert Baratheon’s rebellion before she left the Vale and joined the newly appointed Hand of the king in King’s Landing – her father. She was not used to this reflection without rouge, without artifice, with just her milky skin, her blue eyes and her blond hair.

She was much less a Lady of the Vale than she was a Lady of the capital. Maybe everything she was clinging unto – her name, her honour, all these distant values, were but illusions more useful now than back when she was fearless and needed no shield against anyone. But it mattered very little anyway. She had played many games in her life, including the games of Thrones. She had not lost – she was alive. It was just a bad hand she had to exchange against another. _I can do it._

 

“You will only be authorized to enter this room at nighttime. You will spend the rest of your time…

\- Wherever I want as long as it is not under your eyes and in the middle of your papers,” she ended while standing up. “I do believe I understand your point.”

 

He did not reply. She did not try to provoke him and went to the bed. The mere idea of sharing it with this man, with Tywin Lannister, repulsed her for a while and she could get to sleep. But wariness, nervous tiredness and the lack of an actual bed for a week defeated her and she sunk into a deep sleep without realizing.


	3. Stolen Life

When she woke up the next morning, she found no one next to her. The sheets were wrinkled, which indicated that Tywin indeed slept here, but she remembered neither his arrival nor his departure. Her subconscious, however, seemed to have quite easily understood that she had to stay the further away from him since she was at the very edge of the bed, close to falling. The sheets were cold as well. _He has left a while ago._ Perhaps was he waiting for her to leave to come back. What a happy married life they had.

When she sat on the bed, she was only half-surprised to find a guard near the door, his eyes on her. She ordered him to summon chambermaids, which he did by pulling the cord. She turned away, sighing. There was no flaw in his plan and it was almost terrifying. Almost because she did not have yet the occasion to test the weakest spots of her watching.

When she saw the chambermaid enter the room, she understood that this _almost_ would be reduced to a mere hope. She had never seen her either and she now guessed that the guards that watched over her would take turns to make sure she would never try to seduce one of them. She sat by the dressing table and let the maid do her job while nibbling with the biscuits she had brought with her.

Not eating anything the night before had consequences and she couldn’t help feeling them: she was famished. It was not that she felt safer or comfortable, it was just biological. She had not eaten correctly for a week and the only reason she did not eat anything during the wedding was her anguish. Now that she knew what her situation was, she had no reason to be worried anymore. She simply had to do what she did best: listen, gather information, cross-reference them and act accordingly. No guard could prevent her from doing that in the middle of a tourney, even the most careful one.

 

“My Lady, would you like to choose a dress?

\- Let me guess,” she sighed. “All of them are red and gold?

\- No, my Lady.

\- Let me rephrase then. None of them is blue, white or silver.

\- I… Yes, my Lady,” she stammered. “Should I…

\- Bring me whichever you want as long as it is not red.”

 

She watched her heading to the closet. She opened it, browsed them and, very carefully, took out a deep purple dress. It was strangely simple next to the ones she saw shining from where she stood but it was perfect. The queen rivalled the entire court with her dresses. She would not play this game.

Once ready, she left the room and went to her apartments, a few metres away. When she entered, she was almost surprised to find them in the same state as she had left them when she had been relocated away from the Tower of the Hand. Every furniture had been replaced almost exactly where they used to be, the hangings on the same walls and the armchairs were orientated in the same way. The only thing that had truly changed was the bunch of boxes that were piled up in the centre of the room – every gifts that had not been put inside the drawers or the closets, or hung on the walls for the paintings. Every looked rather refined and it indicated that Tywin was not involved in it. The room lacked lions and gold for him to have done anything.

But he did leave a mark: there was no bed in this room. Worst than that, there was no book left in her bookcase – none at all. She got closer, her heart suddenly tight. It was part of the things she would never retrieve, with Celestial and her freedom. She touched one of the shelves and gritted her teeth. Most of these books were from her father, others were from friends of his and some were even from King Robert for some of her birthdays. They were precious, all of them, and not just because of the way they were made or their content. Mostly because they were _her_ books.

She kept standing in front of the bookcase for a great while, unable to get used to the idea that they had been taken from her. There was nothing compromising in them… Except in one. A collection of prayers and song she had hollowed out to hide most of the letters she received from the Vale – at least those she could not let anyone read. Most of them mentioned the measures she had asked her most loyal bannermen to take, Lord Nestor Royce being the first of them. Obviously they had been found and read by Tywin’s men. She had burned the most dangerous ones once read. It was probably one of the very few reasons why she was still alive.

Tywin Lannister did not lie when he said she would be checked on regularly. Every ten minutes the door opened and closed, just enough time to check she was still there. Without a feather, without ink and parchment, she had to settle for tidying and sorting out the gifts she had received in her jewellery box. Everything was beautiful of course, but everything was so desperately red and gold… She could not understand how Cersei Lannister could still wear these colours after forty years of existence.

Boredom quickly overcame her, though, and she eventually collapsed on a chair, her eyes staring at the huge arches opened on her balcony. She could have gone there without authorization but it would mean taking the risk of being caught and considered suspicious. _Already._ She did not feel like strolling her balcony anyway. She needed to know what had happened while she was away and what was to happen in the following days and weeks.

And she thanked the child she used to be for her bright ideas. Locked in her apartments to learn her lessons or read some book her father gave her, the young Shara Arryn had noticed that one of the walls was friable – the one she shared with her father. After retrieving a knife from the kitchen, she patiently dug the wall until she managed to make a hole big enough to be able to listen and see what could be said on the other side of the whole… Which meant the most guarded secrets of the Realm. Once older, it is exactly how she had learned about Stannis Baratheon and her father’s suspicions about the actual bloodline of the royal children. It is also how she managed to keep up with every changes, every news until she had to leave the apartments behind… Obviously after hiding the tiny hole behind a small mirror that had not been moved ever since.

She waited for another opening-closing of the door to get closer and take it away. She could not see what was happening on the other side – there was a hanging in front of the hole, but she could still listen. She pulled a chair, took one of the boxes with her just in case and rested her head against the wall.

The sounds were dull and the voices skewed, but it did not take her long to recognize Tywin’s. He was talking with a man. She did not recognize him at first. They were talking about the Battle of the Blackwater and its consequences. About shipment of food. From Highgarden. _He is a Tyrell._

 

“It is such a good thing that we arrived on time,” the man said with a beaming pride. “How terrible the consequences if Stannis…

\- It did not happen. There is no need to discuss it.

\- Obviously,” he quickly conceded. _Annoying Tywin Lannister is never a good idea._ “On that note, when do you think it will happen?

\- The earliest is the better. The betrothal will be announced this afternoon during the ceremony.”

 

She blinked. Betrothal? Between… _Oh._ She smiled. Of course. The Tyrells entered as victors in a city that almost fell to the enemy’s hands. It was obvious that they would not settle for being heroic and altruistic. Having their heiress become the next queen of Westeros was worth a few sacrifices. And a few gifts. She made sure the door would not open and continued to listen.

 

“Obviously we will continue to sell our harvests and reserves with the capital,” the man she now imagined to be Mace Tyrell assured. “That being said, Lord Hand, I cannot help wondering why you care so much about the reserves. Harvests are thriving and the capital seems not to need much.

\- For now, Lord Tyrell. The Starks are not the only ones prophesizing the arrival of Winter and it is more than time to make sure we are ready.

\- Of course, of course. It goes without saying.” There was a lingering silence. The two men probably looked at each other. “And what about the young Stark, Sansa I believe?

\- She will be warded off the throne.”

 

The rest of the conversation dealt with the ceremony and the betrothal and it did not interest her. She put the mirror back and kept still, thoughtful. Winter was coming, Ned Stark made sure everyone knew, and yet… Yet it did not seem real. Outside it was hotter than usual and snow was not falling… Not yet, at least. Harvest were still bountiful.

And yet she had taken every measure the last Lord Stark had advised her to take, she had made sure her granaries would be filled and… _Oh._ She smiled again, suddenly understanding why she was still there, still alive. At least she understood one of the reasons why Tywin Lannister had kept her alive.

When he had asked his men to go through her belongings, they must have found the letters she had received from the Vale. Every each one of them mentioned how much food Lord Royce had managed to put in the granaries. He must have seen how much the quantity was growing, to the point where they thought about opening new ones in the next few months. With the North that waged war against them and the Tyrell that just had offered a part of theirs, there was still not enough to make sure the realm would survive… Except if they added hers.

 _It makes no sense,_ she admonished herself. He did not need her to force the Vale to participate in the war effort. Her step-mother was renowned for her cowardice: if anyone had asked her to give away a part of their reserves, she would have done it if only to escape war. He did not need to marry her to take her stocks. There has to be something else, he was too smart to think only about that.

And though she did it through, she found no answer. She lacked elements to imagine one. One thing was certain: he gave a false pretext for this marriage to his daughter and it was probably this one. Even though she could hardly be convinced it was a good enough reason, Cersei Lannister would never have told it to her father. Especially here.

She was tore up from her thought when the door guard announced her that her husband was expecting her. _Speak of the devil. Or the Lion._ She stood up and meekly followed her watchdog to… Their room, a few steps away. She rolled her eyes and passed him to knock and enter.

And she held her breath. Many things could be said about Tywin Lannister and she was the first to think most of the worst. What could not be said, however, was that he lacked poise. Even in a dressing gown she was certain he could silence an entire crowd with a single glance. In her parade armour, the impact was such that she froze by the door before closing it behind her.

It was all in a dark red iron, carved with gold filigrees and suns. The helmet on his task was nothing less than a roaring lion with ruby eyes; on his shoulders a lioness was clawing on cloak of golden brocade even longer than her wedding dress’ train. He turned his eyes to her when he heard her and frowned. _Well I do look like a peasant next to him._

She cautiously curtsied and got closer, her arms crossed on her chest. She had things to ask, remarks to do… But it was not the time. He ousted the squire that was trying to attach his armour and stared at her. She sustained his gaze without flinching. She knew what he was thinking anyway. He only turned away to seize his helmet.

 

“Is that how the Hand of the King’s wife dresses for the victory ceremony?

\- I did not think that you mean military parade when you say victory ceremony,” she retorted, raising an eyebrow. “I would have had my own armour fetched.

\- Enough quip.” His tone called for no answer. “I gave orders to your chambermaid.

\- Order she obviously did not get.

\- Summon her.”

 

She sighed and pulled the cord. The poor girl was probably going to lose her place if not more. She felt Tywin’s eyes detailing her and, when she turned her head to him, his face clearly expressed discontent. _So much for a good beginning of our marriage._

When the door opened, it was one of the two women who had undressed her the night before that arrived. She blinked, surprised. It was not the one that came in the morning, unless she could change her face and body. Noticing how sullen his master looked, she paled and bowed so deeply Shara feared she would lose balance. It was not in her habits to rescue the poor, especially when they caused her this kind of reprimand, but she intervened before he got the time to open his mouth.

 

“She is not the one who dressed me this morning. She was younger and I had never seen her before.

\- How come you were not there this morning, then?” _A failure, sorry._ “I thought I was clear when I ordered you to dress Lady Shara.

\- M’Lord, the queen asked for me this morning when I wanted to go to your Lady wife… She insisted to send one of her own…

\- Oh,” Shara let out with a barely veiled smile. “How surprising.”

 

She did not need to turn her head to Tywin to know that he probably looked daggers at her. But it made sense, suddenly – she probably would not have wanted a younger and more beautiful woman to steal her thunder during a celebration she had contributed to make less bright than expected. And changing the maids was the simpler way to make sure she would not wear a more beautiful dress than her own… And to annoy her father by proxy. _Good catch._ Too bad that the maids feared Lord Lannister more than they feared the queen his daughter.

 

“Dress Lady Shara as you were supposed to. From now on you will be at her service _only_ ,” he simply ordered, as if the part about his daughter had been forgotten entirely. “You have less than a hour.

\- Of course m’Lord, I beg you please…

\- This fault will impact your wages. Do not make me go further in the sanction.”

 

She paled even more and bowed again. How uselessly violent it was to threaten a poor girl that most certainly did not deserve such treatment. Tywin left the room and banged the door with a thud. She winced and tried to smile with as much indulgence as she could. The maid did not know what to do with herself, so she barely reacted and asked her to follow. She decided that it would be cruel to pester her any further, so she simply followed and watched her taking a dress from the closet.

The difference between the one she was wearing and this wonder was striking. This time, no crimson to be seen: gold, a lot of gold, gold everywhere and, here and there, a bit of silver. What could have been lurid and crude was nothing but astonishing; bronze had replaced the Lannister’s shining gold. This dress indeed celebrated Tywin’s victory, but it was more about Joffrey Baratheon’s. And bronze was one of the Baratheon’s colours. The maid did not take the time to compliment her husband’s tastes in clothing and helped her dressing as fast as possible.

The dress was rigid and it did not help when she tried to groom her hair – there was a ruff all around her neck and it prevented her from accessing her hair. As time was passing, her moves grew blunter, snappier, and she almost burnt her a couple of time with the curling iron. Shara, fearing for her own life more than for the maid’s, eventually gave her simple orders. Lift a braid in a bun on the back of her head, curl the strands around her face, put this comb on the top of the bun, powder it a bit, harden her makeup a tad to make it more visible.

She was barely finished with the rouge when the door opened on Tywin, still in his parade armour, still with his helmet under the arm. She maid immediately bowed and ran away. She probably did not want to provoke any more anger from her master. He let her leave and made no comment. Still sitting in front of her dressing table, Shara rolled her eyes and made sure her hairstyle would resist the ceremony before she stood up. She winced. Her corset was especially tight and the rigidity of the fabrics as well as the heaviness of the embroideries and gems made it even more painful.

 

“There was no need to be harsh with her,” she let out while walking toward him. “It was not her fault if the queen…

\- Being a traitress is not enough, so you defend the little people now?

\- I have no time to lose with the wages of a chambermaid.” He did not note her sarcasm. “If you were expecting me to ride with you, you will have to carry me. I can barely move with this… Cage you call a dress.

\- You will not ride my mount.”

 

He raised an eyebrow before he actually turned his head to her. He watched her from head to toe, nodding with a vaguely satisfied look. She refrained from rolling her eyes again. He did not look in the mood to accept any more irony. She looked at the huge clock that covered a section of the nearest wall. _Oh, yes, indeed,_ she noted. They were almost late.

 

“Very well, then what should I do?

\- When the king will receive the prisoners of war, you will be the first to ask for his forgiveness,” he explained, gesturing her to follow him. “A forgiveness he will grant you. Then you will come back to the stand behind the throne and you will wait for the ceremony to end.

\- Ask for his… Forgiveness? You want me to _beg_ the king to grant me his forgiveness?

\- This is exactly what I said, indeed.

\- It is out of the question.”

 

He froze and slowly turned to face her again. Trapped in her dress, she winced when the hoops bended against him and pressed her bust even more. Maybe he had been inexpressive at best until now, but now she clearly saw the flames in his eyes. They were cold but they were flames all the same. She crossed her arms on her chest and sustained those flames. She was not scared of him – at least not as long as she did not know exactly why she was alive. And if she did not know, it meant that he still had not got what he wanted. And that she was still necessary. And alive.

 

“You will obey.

\- I will not beg a king that I…” He grabbed her wrist and pinned it against his chest, almost making her trip and fall. Without his painful grip, she _would have_ “I refuse.

\- Perhaps I did not make myself clear enough. You do not have the choice, Lady You will do as I command or you will join the prisoners to the gallows.

\- You need me. You cannot allow it.

\- Believe me when I say,” he whispered, his face now close enough for her to distinguish the complicate design of his burning irises. “That I can do without you.”

 

She believed him. Because she had no idea why he needed her, she could not make herself indispensable – the fact that he had or not what he expected of her changed nothing to the fact that Tywin Lannister did not ask for permission to take what he needed. She gritted her teeth, clenched her fist and it only made the pain of her wrist worse.

His gauntlet had cut her skin and he did not seem to be willing to let her go. Small drops of blood were now falling on the ground, reminding her that she had too much to lose in this game and no way to win. Without lowering her eyes, she eventually nodded. Barely, just enough for him to notice the move and release her.

She could not help holding her wrist then. Small cuts were covering it and it was out of sheer luck that her dress was not stained. He did not even ask her to cover it and turned to head to the throne room. She followed. Every step was a torture, not only physical but also psychological. She was selling her honour off once again. If she had been any weaker she would have burst into tears at the mere thought of begging a boy to forgive her for an offense she did not regret.

When they reached the surroundings of the huge room, it was already full and her guard led her where she was to stand: as expected, behind the throne and near the armchair where her Lord husband was to sit. She slightly crosser her hands to hide the state of her wrists and prayed that no clever eye would notice that it was just beginning to stop bleeding. It did not take more than two minutes before the doors opened and the ceremony began. 


	4. Bow Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comment, @Tone1991N! I hope you'll like the rest of it.  
> Thanks all those who gave me kudos, btw. It's nice to see my old fiction is still relevant, almost two years after being written.

Tywin Lannister went up the central alley with his incredible parade armour, riding his mount. He only climbed it down once in front of the throne. The man was used to the move; even though his armour probably weighted half of his own weight, it almost made no sound when he landed on the paved floor. Only the plates slammed a bit, barely enough to hear their echo. Shara stood up straight, aware that once the courtiers would be done with their admiration of the Hand of the King, they would turn their eyes on her to check if his new wife was up to him. And despite her coldness and the severity of her eyes, she was. A few had started to compare her to the queen mother who was seating next to her son and smiling. She knew what they thought about it – she had heard a few comments before.

Cersei Lannister had been, and probably still was, one of the most beautiful women of the realm. She was solar with her heavy golden hair and her luxurious and awfully expensive dresses. Shara Arryn was not as opulent and sensual as the queen was and most considered that if she smiled more, she would exceed her in beauty with her finer and more delicate traits. But she was cold and so was her beauty. Her hair was not golden enough and her eyes were too blue. The newfound hardness of her traits did not make her any more accessible. The contrast between the luxury of her dress and the starkness of her eyes was such that she saw a few courtiers trying not to catch her attention.

Then Joffrey Baratheon – _what a joke,_ she mused bitterly, climbed down his throne and greeted his grand-father, calling him “the saviour of the capital” and offered him the insignia of the Hand. He then sat in front of her, on the stand, after shooting her a heavy glance. She raised her chin and did not react.

The parade of the heroes began, the Tyrells being the first. Loras Tyrell was sworn brother of the Kingsguard and his father, advisor of the king. _And now it is Garlan’s turn to sell his sister._ There had been negotiations between her father and Lord Tyrell to marry her to Garlan. For an unknown reason, the young man decided to marry a Fossoway instead. He was a rather comely man, though a bit less than his younger brother. She hid a sarcastic smile behind her hand when the king, dumbfounded, answered the young man.

 

“Your sister’s beauty is famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms, ser Garlan, but I am promised to another. A king must keep his word.

\- In the judgment of your small council,” his mother then intervened. “It would be neither proper nor wise for you to wed the daughter of a man beheaded for treason, a girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne even now.” _Hm, tell me about it._ “The Lady Margaery will make you a far more suitable queen.

\- I would like to heed the wishes of my people, Mother, but I took a holy vow.”

 

The screams that had risen to reclaim the repudiation of Sansa Stark had quieted and silence came back, impatient. _Let us be done with it, everyone knows how this will end._ Tywin had not moved, Cersei looked slightly annoyed by her son’s resistance. The Great Septon, here for a reason she ignored, had to step forward to remind the little king that the gods would not resent him and he was free to follow his heart’s command. It took her every bit of strength she had left not to wince at the mere idea.

And silence lingered, lingered. And it probably lasted even longer for the Tyrells and Sansa Stark than it did for her. The young girl, leaning on the handrail that figured the central alley, was staring at the king. When she realized she was eyed herself, she corrected her attitude and worry replaced impatience. _Good girl,_ she thought. _Good little bird repeating what she had been told._ Tywin stared at his grandson for a while before he stood up to embrace Garlan Tyrell and assure him of his happiness to be able to marry his dear sister. There was a thunder of applause. _This is how an engagement dies, then._ She participated in the applause, of course, but her mind was already elsewhere.

Soon it was the turn of the other heroes, the Redwynes from the Arbour, Randyll Tarly, Kevan Lannister – her brother-in-law, welcome in the family, the Marbrands, Brax, Crakehalls that she recognised only by their sigils. The smaller houses were more complicated, for lack of knowing her heraldic by heart, but she managed to remember a few of them. The others were just freeriders more or less well known and more or less agonizing. If her dress had not reminded her that she had to stay awake, she would have fallen asleep while they listed the names of every ship, officer and knight that paraded.

When Littlefinger appeared, she did wake up and narrowed her eyes. He had not really do anything during the battle, at least not as a fighter. She suspected he was involved in her conspiracy’s demise, but she had not proof of that except his ambiguous and obsequious behaviour. She was only half-surprised to see him granted the castle of Harrenhall and the title of Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. _A cursed ruin and a title as vain as useless,_ she noted. How lucky was he, really, especially as the current Lords of the Riverlands would never accept the domination of a petty nobleman from the Vale, as least not as long as the Stark and Tully lived. It was not much, however, given the state of the times. Then again she applauded, hoping she would soon be done with this ceremony.

But then it was the time for the six hundred knights to be sworn, slowly, ceremoniously, and her dress weighted more and more on waist and compressed it more and more as well. Eyes were no longer on her, they were slowly closing, so she allowed herself to close hers for a second. She was standing near Kevan who eyed her from time to time with curiosity or blame. She answered with a smile or a polite glance.

The worst was to come, though, and once the last of the knights was sworn, she tensed almost immediately. Another group was getting closer, made of noblemen and knights taken as prisoners during the battle. There were not many of them – most of them had managed to flee on their ships, but there were great Lords amongst them, some very close to Stannis Baratheon. But it was not their turn to bend the knee before the king. It was hers and she knew it. Tywin did not fetch her but Kevan reached for her. She took his arm without looking at it and slowly walked in front of the throne, just before the king. The audience quieted.

Standing in the middle of the central aisle, Shara waited for the group of prisoners to stop behind her. The Hand of the king was staring at her. The queen was staring at her. The whole small Council was staring at her and waited a reaction. _I cannot do this,_ she repeated herself. _I do not have the right to do this._ But what she saw in her husband’s eyes, what she had seen in them while they were in the Tower of the Hand, it was not just threats: it was a certainty. If she did not ask for forgiveness, she would die and with her a substantial part of the hope that remained to see the Lannisters fall.

So she slowly knelt on the marble floor and raised her eyes on the king. He was exulting, just like his mother. The audience held its breath. _As high as honour._ It was nothing. Just a move, just words. She was and would remain a Lady of the Vale, with her honour untouched.

 

“Your majesty,” she declared while lowering her eyes. “I beg for your forgiveness for all the hideous acts of treason I stand accused of.

\- Do you disavow any allegiance you had to any of the usurpers who threaten his majesty the king Joffrey Baratheon?” Kevan asked her once back on his seat. “Do you abjure your loyalty?

\- There is nothing to abjure. I was deceived, manipulated to believe the awful lies perpetrated against your highness.

\- Then you recognise the late Lord Stark as well as the late Lord Arryn’s treachery in spreading false information against his majesty, do you?”

 

The queen was smiling above her. She kept quiet and stared at the floor. She was supposed to beg pardon. Not to testify against two of the most honourable men in the Seven Kingdoms. When she raised her eyes to the throne, Tywin’s caught her attention. He looked indifferent to the spectacle, but she knew he was expecting her to behave. She sustained his gaze for a few second, just enough for him to understand she was not afraid of him. Still.

 

“I recognise it. A lifetime is not enough to pay the price of such treacherous acts,” she finally replied with a blank voice. “My heart and soul are loyal to your majesty.

\- For the sake of the Lord Hand your husband, I grant you my forgiveness, Lady Shara. Never again shall your eyes turn to the usurper Stannis Baratheon.

\- Your majesty,” she said again with a livelier voice. It was full of cynicism and irony. “Never again can my eyes turn away from a king as magnanimous and great as you are.

\- Majesty, the other prisoners.”

 

Cersei had interfered to stop her, clearly aware that it was all a mascarade. Her son was not so clever and he was blushing with pride hearing all these compliments and vows of loyalty, not realizing that the reformed traitress was just reminding him who she was and who she remained. Most of the court did not seem to understand either. To the way the Lannisters were looking at her she understood that they saw right through her. _Good._ It was probably the last time she would be able to speak her mind so clearly.

She stood up and went back to her seat, on the stand and in the shadow of the throne. This time, she was the one to catch Sansa Stark staring at her. She tilted her head slightly before she looked back at the ceremony. If any conversation had to happen between the two women, they would have to be discreet and so subtle that she doubted they would understand each other. For now she had to endure the ordeal the former Lords of Stannis Baratheon were put through, and she had to watch bend the knee before a king they did not respect – or should not respect. _One of them betrayed me,_ she mused. He was probably not amongst them, though. He was either already dead or pardoned. She would eventually find who strike her, wherever it was Baelish or some knights from the Stormlands. And he would regret to have put himself on her path.

At first pardons rained on the prisoners who did not try to rebel. Things heated up when it was the Florent bastards’ turn and of some of the men of Stannis’ inner circle. One of them, very far from the idea of betraying his king, rose against Joffrey and screamed things she wished she could have screamed herself. The blush on his cheeks vanished and he turned red with fury, ordering his guards to seize the man. But another man screamed too, his eyes switching from him to her. _He knows me._ He was trying to find solace in her.

 

“Joffrey is the black worm eating the heart of the realm! Destroy him before he corrupts you all! Destroy them all, queen whore and king worm, vile dwarf and whispering spider, the false flowers!” She knew the rhetoric – it was the one taught by the Rh’llor priestess Stannis kept as an advisor. “The scouring fire will come! King Stannis will return!

\- I’m king! Kill him! Kill him now, I command it, I…” He screeched in pain and the whole audience suddenly went quiet. The king had just harmed himself on the throne and his sleeve was turning a darker shade of red with blood. “Mother!”

 

Hiding her mocking smile behind her hand, she was almost surprised to see the screaming man seizing a pike and blaring that the throne was denying the fake king. He was right, and he wanted her to say it too. _Not after all this,_ she thought. _If he really wants Stannis to have the slightest possibility to come back, he needs me alive._ She turned her head to the throne where Cersei had thrown herself to take her son away with three maesters. Tywin had no moved the slightest during the whole scene and simply moved a finger to end this comedy with the end of its main actor.

A deafening brouhaha ensued in the room as every advisor glanced at each other and whispered. Baelish and Varys shared comments that intrigued her. _What can a whispering spider say to a stupid bird?_ She caught the latter’s attention and he respectfully nodded. She raised hers and her eyes followed her husband that had risen to sit on the Iron Throne. It suited him way better than the three last kings that sat on it.

 

“We continue,” he declared in a such a vigorous voice than silence immediately came back. “Those who wish to ask pardon for their treasons may do so. We will have no more follies.”

 

She lost count of all the pardons granted, the apologies and the titles and only only surfaced again once the guests started to leave. When she looked outside the immense windows, the saw that the sun was setting. _Have I really spend the entire day here?_ She refrained from yawning and followed her guard to the room. The chambermaid was waiting for her, apparently still not really back on her feet since Tywin’s scolding. She had neither the strength nor the will to discuss it and let her undress her. She put on her nightdress and a robe of crimson silk to look at least presentable for her husband. She dismissed her before she tried to touch her hair and took care of it herself. She was used to do it, it was the only moment she had for herself before sleeping.

She had to make good use of the few minutes she could spend with her husband to understand what he wanted to make of her, or at least what he expected from this wedding. He would most likely say nothing but silences have meaning, sometimes even more than lengthy speeches. Lies always veiled a more or less important part of truth. Once she was done combing and braiding her hair, she left her room.

He had left his armour and only wore his usual leathery surcoat with the Hand insignia pinned on the chest. He was sitting at his desk and did not grant her the slightest attention when she entered, merely dismissing the guard that accompanied her. She kept still for a while, just enough to make sure the hole between their rooms was indeed hidden. As expected there was a hanging on the wall. She silently nodded and sat on the armchair where Celestial was lying on the night before. She tried to find the right words before breaking the silence.

 

“Where are my books?

\- Your books?” he asked, barely interested. “What books?

\- All those that were in my bookcase. There are not there anymore.

\- My men are inspecting them. We already made a few discoveries.” He put his feather down and raised his eyes on her. “Why a poem collection?

\- Is it the first book you inspected?

\- No.

\- You have your answer.” She was not smiling and neither did her voice. “I do not have mine.”

 

He nodded as if it was the answer he was expecting and kept quiet. _I will not retrieve them,_ she guessed. She was right when she predicted that much. Her heart tightened. Some of them had shaped her more than every teachers and ladies in waiting of this realm, and they were the reason she was the woman she was. For better and for worse. She had spent hours, whole days reading them, highlighting the most interesting points, taking notes on them. And it was all lost.

 

“These books are precious to me,” she insisted, knowing that it was in vain. “You will not find anything in them.

\- It is for me to decide what is to be found or not. You will have to do without them.

\- Do you really figure that I will spend days locked in my apartments waiting for time to pass? I have no books, no ink, no parchment and you have me watched over every hour of the day. Nothing different from the cell you took me from.

\- Do you wish to come back in this cell, then?

\- After receiving the official pardon of his majesty?” She smiled coldly. “I would be heartbroken to disappoint him.”

 

Tywin tensed under the insult but said nothing. There was a great difference between this kind of comment made in private and her bombastic speech in the throne room – he was expecting the first and would punish the second if it were to happen again. It was fair game, though; she was never supposed to disavow her father. Her honour had been tarnished enough for her not to accept every affronts with a smile and among every stupid reaction she could have had, this one was probably the one he understood the best. If he really wanted to, anyway.

 

“I do hope your grand gesture amused you.” _He reads my thought._ “For it is the last I will tolerate from you.

\- And it is the last time I tolerate such a humiliation. Lest you forget I was not supposed to publicly betray Eddard Stark and my late father.

\- I do not control the king.

\- Maybe you should,” she let out. “But if you control your family as well as you control me, I think I understand better the state of the kingdom.”

 

This time the insult had him clench his fist. _This is the line not to be crossed then._ She noted that she had to stay away from his family if she wanted to keep her head on her shoulders and at least bearable relationships with him. She had to admit that she liked very much to push every weak spots – she knew a lot and it was something he could not stand. She stood up and went closer to the window that overlooked the inner court. There was no one outside except a few guards. The Red Keep was falling asleep.

 

“You certainly allow yourself a great amount of things for a prisoner. Do not imagine that I will tolerate your remarks and innuendos simply because you think yourself smarter than the rest of this realm.

\- Oh, no. It has nothing to do with you and me,” she retorted, still watching the patrol of guards underneath. “It has everything to do with what you wish to obtain from this marriage.

\- So this is how you spent your morning, devising theories regarding my intentions?

\- I do not have the pretention to understand the entirety of your plans.”

 

She shrugged and tightened the belt on her waist. A cold draft blew from every badly isolated corners of the room, and the gods knew how many there were. _Maybe Winter is coming, finally._ She did not remember feeling cold since… Since ever. She was not sure she had ever been cold, except maybe when she was too young to remember. The mere idea of seeing snow and Winter come brought a smile to her lips. Like this kingdom needed more than a civil war, a stupid king and a royal family dysfunctional at best. At least Winter would help the Stark if any survived until it actually came.

 

“So you did understand a part of it,” he noted. She heard the chair scraping the floor. He turned in her direction. “May I ask which one?

\- The one you used as the official reason why you wished to marry a traitress. The least interesting one.

-What is it, then?

\- You read the letters I exchanged with Lord Royce,” she answered with a lingering voice. “You know the Vale’s granaries are almost full and you know Winter is coming. The Tyrells’ reserves will not be enough to feed the realm when snow falls, especially if the court does not reduce its spending… Which is not to happen as long as your daughter is queen. Retrieving the Vale’s resources will be necessary at some point for the sake of either the crown or Westeros.

\- And what make this part the least interesting?”

 

She slowly turned to face him. His green eyes were staring at her with a rare intensity, the kind that usually make people lower their own. But it was exactly what he wanted and she knew it. It was not an actual question; he knew the answer already. He was gauging her, checking if her reputation was well founded and especially if she was really capable of devising a conspiracy that could have weaken the crown and the city enough to render them both to Stannis Baratheon. And she was only too happy to confirm her reputation, at least here. There were other aspects of it that she would rather keep hidden and under-estimated, especially by him.

 

“You do not need me to seize the Vale’s reserves. It is indeed easier if you make me render them,” she admitted. “But you could have obtained them by demanding a tribute in food. You know you could have because you know my mother-in-law and you know that she is eager to do anything to avoid war. She would have given you half, perhaps even the two-third of our reserves only to guarantee peace.

\- An acute reasoning, I must admit,” he declared, brushing his jaw with his hand. A satisfied look floated on his face. “And when it comes to the real reason of this wedding?

\- I will eventually find it. You cannot eternally hide your cards. Until then… I will simply say that you need me. Whatever you say.”

 

She waited for no answer and went to the bed that only was nuptial by name. She would not complain and she did appreciate the effect of leaving on these last words. It was strategically stupid to show him she knew more than he could imagine, but it was long overdue that he stopped underestimate her. Now he knew she remained and would remain a threat. A threat with pale hair and eyes, a threat with a soft skin and a charming smile – a threat all the same.


	5. Of Verbal Fencing

If she had even wondered, she quickly realized her days were all the same. The celebrations lasted a few more days, she woke up at the same hour, was dressed by the same maid and was led to a room that did not change, doing the same things over and over again. The only thing that changed was the guard outside her door and the way she organized her activities outside the room. She enjoyed the distractions the crown offered the court as long as she could to mingle with the crowd and try to learn more about the events to come.

Most rumours revolved around Sansa Stark’s future and the question was worth asking indeed. Her brother still waged war between the North and the Riverlands, still stuck at the north of the Trident and only seldom venturing below. He was still alive and, rumours had it, was now married to a Westerling – a banner house of Tywin Lannister and the idea was hilarious, but she was almost certain that her husband and the whole realm was going to get tired of the situation quite soon. Without any way to contact Stannis, she could not know precisely how his assaults were going. And if she did not know, neither did the court, hence the interrogations of the potential heir of house Stark’s future. Her sister had vanished in thin air, his youngest brothers were presumed dead… Winterfell would soon fall into her hands if only her brother died.

It was not for lack of trying, but she heard nothing regarding any marriage that was not Joffrey and Margaery’s. The expenditure were astronomic, though she only heard part of the story – the actual conversation took place within the small Council. She was trying to listen to her husband when she heard the door open. She quickly put the mirror back and walked to the window before turning to the young woman who had just entered. She bowed before her. _A Tyrell,_ she guessed by the colours of her dress. Probably a friend of the queen-to-be, judging by her age.

 

“Lady Shara, I come in the name of Lady Margaery,” she presented herself. _She is so perfectly courteous._ “She wishes to invite you to share with her the refreshments we have ordered for this afternoon.

\- I am afraid I cannot come if not with a guard, would it be a problem?

\- Not in the slightest, my Lady,” she smiled. _Dangerous._ “We will not keep you too long.

\- Then it will be a joy and a honour.”

 

The young girl smiled even more and left the room, leaving Shara thoughtful. Margaery probably wanted to get along with the wife of the most powerful man of the kingdom, even if she was just a decoy. She would have done the same. _Maybe I would not have imagined that I have any leverage on Tywin, though._ She would not complain; even with her watchdog nearby, she would probably found a bit more information about the actual political situation of Westeros. The queen-to-be was skilled and kept her cards very close to her chest, but she was only the granddaughter of the Queen of Thorns and Shara could not believe she was as cunning and diplomatically savvy as she was.

She patiently waited for the hour to come before leaving, her guard on her heels. He made no comment, he only followed her to the gardens where she quickly found the Tyrell party. They were all young and pretty girls and she had to force herself to remain unshaken – their laughter and smiles were contagious. Margaery, the prettiest of them all, motioned her to sit next to her and handed her a bowl filled with fruits. _The Reach’s generosity to its finest._

 

“It is a honour, Lady Lannister,” she said, curtsying respectfully. “For us to have you. I wanted to invite you for days but I was afraid to bother you or waste your time.

\- It is a pleasure to be here.” She knew she was locked in most of her time; she was still very talented in pretending she did not. “Especially in the company of the queen-to-be. My congratulations.

\- Thank you. Everything is so sudden… I hardly realize.”

 

 _What a skilled player she is._ She blushed with pleasure and embarrassment on request, so that Shara could not help smiling too. Not out of happiness or tenderness – out of satisfaction. Maybe she was wrong about her; the young girl was just as beautiful as she was talented and it meant much.

She would not be able to make her talk, but still she could find the way to gather a few information. The ones she wanted her to know, of course, and the ones that were not important enough to be caught by her guard that stayed a few steps away from the table. She could almost feel the weight of his gaze on her shoulder.

 

“You will be an incredible queen, I am sure.

\- I do hope so.” She paused, looking a bit sadder. “But I cannot help thinking about Lady Sansa. As if it was not enough to have her family betray the kingdom, now she is repudiated.

\- It is true that the gods do not spare the poor child.

\- I hope his majesty will offer her a beautiful wedding with a decent man. She deserves to find peace.”

 

Shara guessed she was trying to gauge her opinion on the subject by the way her every word were carefully weighted. Her opinion was as neutral as it could get… Though she still felt pity for the girl. Innocence and gentleness were no qualities in this world and she had learned her lesson in the hardest way possible. It seemed that she was finally succeeding in building walls around her, a hardest shell to protect herself from the attacks she suffered and the names she was given, but she was still too fragile. _Fragile and yet important,_ she mused.

 

“I fear his majesty will not grant her peace before long,” she sighed with the most painful look she could allow herself. “Robb Stark is still waging war and he does not seem to be willing to yield.

\- Alas the gods have very dark designs for the Starks. I pray every day for an end to this war that torments the realm and make men rise against one another.

\- We all do. Lady Sansa must pray even harder for such an end.

\- It is likely. Once the peace is back we will have to find a list of every good matches.”

 

 _There we are._ She nodded and picked a few fruits from the bowl. They were delicious, even more than those that came from Dorne. Juicier, sweeter thanks to the sweet climate of Highgarden. She kept quiet, managing suspense in the conversation not to raise her guard’s suspicion. This conversation had to remain joyful.

 

“I fear that my brother is a bit too young,” she smiled before chuckling. “The poor Sansa would become a mother before she becomes a wife.

\- Oh no, I mean _perfect_ when I say good match!” She chuckled as well. “The Reach has its lot of young men who would doom themselves for such a pretty wife.

\- Really?

\- My eldest brother himself would not complain with a wife like her,” she smiled. “How merry would it be to be? Three young ladies around the throne! Three friends, I hope.

\- It would be perfect, indeed.”

 

So the Tyrells were interested in Winterfell and the North. The idea should not have surprised her, but still it did. Ambition was only one of the word that came first when she thought about Highgarden, and its wealth and its power were obvious. The mere idea of watching the last of the Starks leaving so far and yet so close to the throne did not really delight her; once married, she would be of no use anymore. She would be stuck… And willingly so. Willas Tyrell, heir to house Tyrell, was known to be a charming man, smart and as handsome as his brothers and sister. Obviously the young Stark would fall under his spell as soon as she would see him, rendering him Winterfell on a silver plate if her own brother was to die…

And rendering the North to allies of the Lannisters. As she was still gossiping with the Tyrell party about the royal marriage, Shara tried to find a solution, a way to avoid such a wedding. Finding it was not the hardest thing: she just needed to tell Tywin. He would not accept to lose the North to allies and rivals alike. She would have to tell him carefully… _No, it is useless to be careful. He will understand immediately._ Maybe talking about it directly was the simplest way – the one less likely to annoy him. Even if she could care less about annoying him or not, the main point was to provoke a reaction… And a good one. As to why she would help him, she had no idea what she could tell him. He would see right through her, and she could only hope that he would listen to her arguments. It was not obvious but it was not completely impossible either. He could not reject an efficient strategy, even if it came from her. He was no longer a young boy eager to fight her on every subject.

She stayed a good part of the afternoon with Margaery and her party joking, whispering about the court and Westeros. This kind of conversation held very interest to her so she simply answered with clever pleasantries to amuse the audience and _especially_ not attract the attention of the queen-to-be or her guard. She was certain that she was brighter than she let see and she had no idea how competent the guard was. _Or how incompetent, it depends._ She only left the gardens once the sun started to set, pretending she had to come back to her husband.

A poor lie, really, since she spent another hour undressing and trying to find an effective way to start the conversation. It took her a moment to remember that her guard would probably report to Tywin before she entered the room and that it would probably set him thinking. Maybe he would start the conversation himself. She was not certain he knew half of what she knew and it gave her a head start. She would gladly have given up on it, though. Going against the Tyrells’ plan did not please her but she had no other personal power than the very symbolic and vaguely psychological power she got from her marriage and her birth.

She said nothing for a while when she entered the room. He was working on his desk and she was combing her hair, looking at him in the mirror. _Could it be that the guard understood nothing?_ She could not help smiling, putting down her scaled comb. When she raised her head, he was looking at her in the mirror as well. She raised an eyebrow and simply braided her hair while sustaining his gaze.

 

“You are very quiet tonight,” he noted, lowering his eyes on his papers. “And very cheerful.

\- I spent a fine day. I can pretend I am sad, if you feel better surrounded by tears.

\- Enough sarcasm, my disgrace of a son gives me enough of them.

\- Hmhm,” she let out, feigning disinterest. “A clever choice, this Margaery.

\- I understood you spent your afternoon with her indeed.”

 

 _There we are._ She waited for a few seconds for him to talk about Sansa. And others. But he did not, he was just going through his files. This guard was an idiot – really. And deaf. She tied her braid and chuckled softly. Tywin froze, trying to find a rational reason for her sudden hilarity and, for lack of finding any, raised his head again.

 

“Is there something I should know?

\- Your guard did not tell you, then?” She tilted her head and turned to face him, a smile on her lips. “If you really hope to spy on me, you should choose them a bit more carefully.

\- The Gold Cloaks are not known for their cleverness.

\- Then maybe the Gold Cloaks are not adapted to this office.”

 

She stood up and sat in front of him, by his desk. She guessed his annoyance and the threat this annoyance represented by the way his emerald eyes shined. If she did not talk, he would have someone talk. Not his guard, obviously, but Margaery or any of her friends that would not be so delicate as to hold her tongue. _But I will talk._ She was just giving him pause to enjoy the slightest bit of power she had left.

 

“If he had been anything else than fundamentally stupid,” she continued with a dulcet voice. “He would have told you we spoke about Sansa Stark.

\- He did.

\- Perhaps, but he did not tell you that the young and beautiful Lady Tyrell let slip a crucial information about her. Now that she is… Well, freed from any matrimonial bound, she holds a newfound interest for many and not just because she has a pretty face.

\- Of course she is an interesting match, she is the key to the North,” he let out. “It is not new.

\- Only if her brother dies without heir. And only if she is not married in the meantime.”

 

She crossed her hands on her thighs, his eyes staring at him. He frowned, expecting the rest of the story, but he composed himself and looked away. He did not need her to know it – in fact, he should not have needed her to doubt the Tyrells’ intentions. It was obvious that a young women as weak and pretty as her would draw attention on her. Especially from houses as ambitious as they were. Especially with a son to marry. Especially if said woman had a kingdom as a potential heirloom. _And what kingdom, really._ In case of problems with the Lannisters, they could always decide to support the northmen’s resentment and end this war for good. The idea was excellent. Too bad that they did not take into account a crucial factor that could not be ignored when it came to the North.

 

“Why do you tell me all this? You were _very clear_ in your intention to be a thorn into the realm’s side.

\- I could offer you another sarcasm and tell you that now that I am a Lannister I intend to serve my house as well as possible,” she said while shrugging. “But since you want no more sarcasm, I will simply say that I have no personal interest in watching this marriage happen.

\- So you have some interest in watching it fail.

\- Perhaps, or perhaps not, who knows exactly?”

 

Tywin narrowed his eyes and stoop up to walk to his bookshelves. Contrary to hers they were full of books about every matter possible… And amongst them, books she had possessed herself. She ignored the usual pain she felt every time she saw books that resembled hers and simply looked at him. He was running a hand on his jaw. How incredible it would be to be able to read his thoughts. There had to be mountains of thoughts, of plans, of useful memories in this skull. And she was curious to know how he thought things.

Now she had to move on to the second part of her plan – it was not enough for him to know, he had to react the way _she_ wanted him to react. And there was only one way to obtain this reaction and it was simply talking about it. It was a double-edged sword, though: either he decided to accept her plan, and she knew it was the most efficient one, or he decided that she could not be trusted. It was his decision. She could do nothing about it.

 

“What will you do of this information?

\- Are you really hoping I will answer you?” he retorted, turning her head to her. “If I refuse to trust my closest advisors, do you really think I will trust a traitress?

\- Of course not. That being said… It does not stop me from sharing with you what I would do in such a situation.

\- I do not think I asked for your opinion.

\- It is not an opinion.”

 

 _This is joyous._ It had been weeks, months really, since the last time she felt this feeling of _sheer power._ This shiver, this powerful emotion. Whatever he said, he did listen. She had caught his attention. She knew the North better than he did. She was a threat, as much as he was one, but maybe there was some good to her plan. _Yes,_ she understood when she sustained his look. _I must keep myself interesting._ It was the only way she could protect herself from now.

 

“The North is a strange place for us southerners with its honour and its boundless loyalty to its ruling house. The northerners must be the only one to be eager to wage a war for a boy of fifteen just because he is the son of his father and is followed by a direwolf,” she said, making sure to perfectly clear. “Torrhen Stark just had to bend the knee for the whole North to bend theirs before the Targaryens, as Robb Stark just had to summon his bannermen to be sworn king in the North.

  * I do not have the patience for a history lesson.
  * Very well, I will be more direct then. The North only follows house Stark, which means that if Robb Stark were to die without heir, the loyalty of his bannermen would go straight to the last living member of the house. Lady Sansa.” She motioned him not to interrupt her with a sweep of her hand, before blinking when she realized she had just silenced the Hand of the king. “If Lady Sansa were to lose her name for non-northern house, this loyalty would be lost. In other words, the only way to retrieve control over the North is through a virgin, unmarried queen in the North… And easily wielded.”



 

He kept quiet and still, staring at her. _If any of the seven gods hear me, your turn,_ she thought while standing as well to face him. A draft blew from one of the windows and moved some papers on the desk, but none of them reacted. The two were gauging each other, more than ever.

She knew what she was searching in him; a gleam of comprehension, maybe the tiniest little sign of him being the slightest impressed. A nod. Anything to comfort her in her hope to have convinced him. What he was searching in her, however, she could only imagine. Maybe was he trying to evaluate how much this plan would benefit her, how much she was trying to manipulate him. Or maybe was he wondering how she could know of these things, if really the late Jon Arryn had raised his daughter to be as talented as he was, or if she was simply born this way. _Or maybe he is just trying to impress me._

“Enough pleasantries, my Lady,” he eventually said. “What benefits would you find in this plan?

\- How do you want me to find any benefit? I am locked in there without any way to reach the outside world and my only plan now is to survive.

\- I will not believe you are sharing this plan with me out of sheer sympathy and you will not convince me otherwise.

\- And I am not trying to,” she smiled. “All I am saying is that this plan will serve the realm and that I am part of it.”

 

For a second she thought she had seen the shadow of a smile on Tywin Lannister’s lips, but it was probably just because of the shivering lights of the candles around. He moved again, at some point, and reached the actual bedroom – the bed and the closets around. She turned to follow him but stopped when she saw him behind the screens. Dull noises of fabric followed and she lost herself in the contemplation of the hangings and the complex ironworks figuring the Lannister’s lion. Was there really so much gold in Casterly Rock as to allow the members of its house to be this extravagant?

 

“It would be folly not to listen to such a… Wise advice,” she heard. “But most would consider that it would be folly to follow any advice, even wise, if given by a barely reformed traitor.

\- So you do sarcasm as well?” She smiled, walking closer to the screens. “I thought you had enough of them.

\- And you, Lady Shara, talk too much for your own good.”

 

She found his eyes as he was slipping in the nuptial bed, as far as possible from her. She nodded and did the same. Dices were rolled. She could only hope the result would be the one she expected. _You will know sooner than later,_ she cursed herself, closing her eyes. Her fate was not exactly hers anymore ever since she became a Lannister anyway.


	6. Married, Buried

When she woke up the next morning, it took her a great deal of time to realize something was off. Tywin was obviously not there and her chambermaid arrived a few minutes after she called her with her breakfast and her renowned indifference. Seating in front of the dressing table, nibbling a piece of cake, she looked around before finding a pile of books on the small table she remembered covered with clothes the night before.

Ignoring her maid’s scolding, she went closer and grabbed the first. A collection of prayers. Her collection of prayers, she realized when she opened it and saw it hollowed out. She smiled and looked at the second. A geography of Westeros, one of the only books she had written on. The third was a thick volume about the Vale’s history. _My books._ She put it back and saw a piece of parchment falling. She grabbed it while she returned at the dressing table to let the maid work and read it.

 

_Here are three of your books, as a gesture of good will. The others are still under review._

_Tywin Lannister, Hand of the king Joffrey the first of House Baratheon, Lord…_

 

 _Blablabla._ She regretted not to be able to respond, for lack of ink and feather, and folded the paper. A smile floated on her lips, a mix of pride, of a feeling of victory barely hidden and of a certain surprise. She did not think she would see them again any soon. She even thought they were lost to the flames, but he _really_ took the time to check them all. She thanked the maid when she was done and retrieved the books to bring them to her apartments.

She put them on the shelves, where they were before Tywin Lannister took them away. She looked at them for a long time, trying to remember those that surrounded them. There were a few histories of Westeros, some focused on the Targaryens, biographies, a few other collection of poems. _Soon,_ she mused. _Soon I will have them back. I just need to be patient._ It was not much, right? Just patience. She took the history of the Vale and sat near the mirror that still hid her only way to keep herself updated on the intrigues of her dear husband.

Despite her good will, she heard nothing worth of being heard. Details about the organization of the wedding – who was to pay, how the bride would be dressed, what music would be played, as well as a list of the guests to come. She was almost surprised to hear that a Martell party was awaited, but it was not useful information for now. Maybe it would become one, but until then, she needed concrete elements. She needed to know what was to happen to Sansa Stark and especially, _especially_ to her brother. She know nothing about the battles led against the North and she had no idea if he was still winning or if his armies were losing the upper-hand.

Disappointed but mainly curious, she decided to go out for a while. She barely reacted when she heard her guard’s armour starting to move and let him walk two steps behind her to the Traitor’s Walk. _The Traitor’s Walk._ She would have burst out into laughter if only she had the occasion or the right to. The name was so very appropriate. She saw Stannis Baratheon’s ships arriving from this walk and she had been arrested here as well.

She cared very little for the soldier that had to bear the sun’s heat at its highest and reached the upper part of the walk, the one that overlooked the bay. It was hard to believe it had been devastated by fire, ships and death a few weeks before. It was also hard to believe that it could have been the scene of the memorable rebellion of Robert Baratheon. Back then it must have been just as violent and deathly, of course. _Now it is just the living proof a heavy defeat._ And of a way more violent decline than she expected. A very intentional decline.

 

“Lady Lannister,” she heard behind her as she was staring at the calm swell of the Blackwater underneath. “It is rare to be so lucky as to meet you outside of your apartments.

\- Lord Baelish. Are you not supposed to be seating in the small Council?

\- I have no seat there anymore. Tyrion Lannister holds the position of Master of the Coin now.

\- Tyrion Lannister,” she repeated, turning to face him. “What made you abandon your seat?

\- Your husband entrusts me with a very important mission, my Lady. I am afraid I cannot tell you more.”

 

His smile was chastened but she only replied with a sneer. Her father hated this man, aware that there was nothing he would not do to rise, heedless of honour or loyalty. Her mother-in-law, Lysa, thought he had every virtue. She suspected she harboured way less chaste feelings for him than she pretended. _She is too stupid to realize he is just interested by her position._

She was not. And she was way more careful than Lysa Arryn would ever been, even as she stood at the top of the Eyrie trying to avoid everything that looked even remotely like war. If she had had the time to summon her armies, they would have come despite her opinion on the matter, but she had had neither the time nor the occasion. She suspected more and more that Tywin Lannister had married her to make sure the Vale would stay under control, but then again the theory was not perfect; if he wanted her bannermen to stay in line, it was enough to simply leave them alone or pressure a Lady of the Vale – what a sick joke it was to call her like that, that would have bowed to his every demand.

 

“How much time since you were there last?” he continued, following the direction of her eyes. “Several weeks?

\- Since the battle. What a shame that I had to be interrupted in my admiration of the bay.

\- What a shame indeed. The cells have a much less interesting view, I gather. Not that I would know anything about them, of course.

\- Enjoy it while you can, you never know in what direction the table will turn.”

 

His smile turned in a grimace and he chuckled softly. Though she had just blatantly threatened him, her threat was void – she could do nothing against him, even if she dreamed about it at night. If she had so little as the beginning of a proof, of a reason to believe he was the one to reveal she was involved in Stannis Baratheon’s attack… She would just need a way to have him fall. It would not be complicate. A man like him had just as much blood on his hand as Tywin Lannister himself. Stark blood, especially. Poor Lady Catelyn thought she could trust this bird of ill omen. Poor Lord Stark lost his head to this wishful thinking.

He got closer to her before looking at the guard nearby. He gestured him to go away… And he did. _Tywin really needs to realize his guards are inept._ And corrupted to the core. She did not even wanted to know how Littlefinger managed to sway a man supposedly loyal to the Hand of the king and convince him to abandon his guard, even for a second. She did not blink, she waited to see what he wanted and why he thought necessary to be alone with her.

 

“A masterstroke, Lady Shara, I must admit. Succeeding in staving off the Tyrells’ plan and making sure Sansa Stark would marry such an uninteresting man, it was really a masterstroke.

\- I really do not know what it is about, Lord Baelish,” she retorted. “House Tyrell does not wishes Sansa Stark to marry Lord Willas anymore?

\- Do not mock. I will not believe you have nothing to do with the betrothal of Ser Daven Lannister and Sansa Stark.”

 

His eyes were shining with anger. She said, did nothing. Daven Lannister, son of Stafford Lannister – brother of the late Lady Joanna, first wife of her husband. A young boy fighting alongside his uncle’s army, like his father before Lord Rickard Karstark killed him at Oxcross. A young man who was way too far from the Court and too invested in the war to come back and marry any soon. Which meant…

That he was a puppet in Lord Tywin’s hands. A compromise. A way to follow her advise without admitting it and a way to keep Sansa Stark under control so long as her brother was alive. She refrained from smiling and turned to actually face Petyr Baelish. Her indifference faced his ludicrous fury. She tilted her head and smiled.

 

“Would you be jealous of Ser Daven? I fear he is a much more interesting match than you are, if only for his name… And his age.

\- You obviously know it has nothing to do with jealousy.

\- Really? I know that? How would I know that?” She shrugged. “As for the… Ploy you are talking about, I can hardly imagine how I would have manipulated the Lord Hand. He is Lord Tywin Lannister, not Lord Stark.

\- If someone could manipulate Lord Lannister, then it would be you.”

 

It was probably not meant to, but the remark sounded like a compliment. She burst out into a crystalline laugh. What did Littlefinger want? Did he want to marry Sansa Stark to another man? Did he have some plans regarding her, plans that had turned to ashes because of her schemes? It was an open secret that the infatuation he had for her mother was one-sided, so maybe he wished to marry her instead… Or have her marry any petty nobleman of his entourage to keep her around. A shame it was also Tywin Lannister’s intent.

Turning again to watch the bay, she ignored his presence to focus on what this decision meant. Sansa Stark was still theoretically unmarried but since the betrothal had been announced, it meant that she was once again tied to man who would probably die on the battlefield. An easy way to keep her at disposal for whatever northerner once the time would come for her to go back to Winterfell and rule the lands under Casterly Rock’s direct orders. Well, direct… Tywin would probably need an intermediary, so her husband would probably loyal to him and not to his wife.

 

“You ascribe very dark intentions to me,” she finally sighed. “How would this marriage benefit me in any way?

\- I still ignore how but your fecund mind must have found some benefits to this _lack_ of marriage.

\- Robb Stark would have to die for that. Last I heard he was still very much alive.

\- It will not take long before he dies,” he let out. “And when he does, you will have no power over Sansa… If you ever had any.

\- Well, Lord Baelish, you must reach an agreement with yourself. Did I decide the poor girl’s fate or not?”

 

He did not answer, gesturing the guard to come back. Her eyes followed him as he left the walk. Once alone again, she frowned. It will not take long, he said. Robb Stark’s death was already planned, then? She admonished herself for the few information she found and climbed down the stairs to reach the gardens when she sauntered thoughtfully.

She crossed paths with groups of young people who respectfully curtsied before her or avoided her, but she heard nothing interesting in their conversations. She eventually stopped in a grove to sit near a fountain. She lost herself in her contemplation of the flowers that surrounded her. _It will not take long,_ she repeated. It could be a mere remark, an observation that she could have made herself, but there was something in the way he had said it. Something in his tone, in the sound of his voice and in the way he had simply let it out that did not sound like a mere observation.

It sounded like a conclusion, like something that had been decided a long time ago and that she did not know simply before she was either deaf, stupid or kept at bay. And he was not wrong, at least for the first and last reason. She was deaf and kept at bay, as she always was, though until now she had always found a way to keep herself updated. Running a hand across her face, she tried to find a solution, something that would allow her to understand what he meant.

If Tywin Lannister were rational, and he was, he must have told no one in the Court so it excluded the Tyrells party from potential witnesses, even their most important members. If he were even more rational and careful, _and he was_ , those who know must be very far away and only discussed with him through letters… But he probably burned every letter at the very moment he received them, unless he hid them more carefully than her with Lord Royce’s letters. It was unlikely that she would find any letter in his desk if she even managed to reach his room without her guard to notice.

 _But I need to try,_ she thought, biting her thumbnail. She had no choice; she could not let things happen without keeping control of them. If she wanted to be able to escape this place, or at least have the slightest control over her life, _she had_ to know. _If anyone sees me I am dead._ She was quite certain that she would not reach Casterly Rock if he found her going through his desk but would go directly to the chopping block. Was it really worth the risk?

 _This is not even a question._ If Tywin Lannister found a way to establish his authority over the North, there was no hope left for Stannis Baratheon and even more so for herself. The only salvation she could get was his and without the North and the Riverlands, he was nothing but a vague threat. And she was nothing but a meek wife. She jumped on her feet and went back to her apartments pretending she had to freshen up. She then went to the hole she had dug. She heard nothing, no breathing, no quill. No one.

She took a deep breath. When she had pretended she had to freshen up, she had made sure she would be granted more time than usual before he would check on her, maybe a dozen, twenty minutes instead of the usual ten. She had to find a way to reach the Hand’s apartments. _How?_ She looked around. She was not going to knock the wall down in twenty minutes and she could not slip inside the tiny hole she used as a spying device. She gritted her teeth and tried to have her mind work, in vain.

When her eyes reached the balcony, she wondered if she could scale the frontage to the next balcony and enter the room. _Wasted effort with this dress. And too dangerous._ She would fall to her death before reaching it. But maybe… The other balcony was linked to an empty room. If she could attract the guard away from her door, maybe she would have the time to reach the Hand’s. She grabbed the first thing she could find, some mug, and walked on the balcony checking that no one could see her. Or watching her. She leaned onto the fence and threw the mug as strong as she could on the stained-glass window that decorated the arch that led to the balcony. It made a huge crystalline roar and it took a second for the guard to rush to the room.

She slipped outside and sneaked in the nuptial room. She closed the door behind her. She had very, very little time before the guard would go back to his post. She had to find a reason, any reason, to justify the fact that she was outside her room. The noise would be enough, given the soldier’s complete lack of wit, but she had to be quick for him not to get the idea that she was responsible for the breaking of the glass wall, or that she took advantage of it to nose around where she was not supposed to nose around.

She immediately went to the desk and opened the drawers. They were full of papers, parchments, messages and letters, but nothing regarding what Tywin Lannister was planning for the king of the North. She did not take the time to read anything, her heart beating hard in her chest, trying to find any northern seal or information. As she expected, if there was any correspondence regarding Robb Stark, it was well hidden. Verging on panic and running out of the time, she closed the drawers and opened the chest near the desk. It was filled to the rim with unsealed letters, most of them dating from their wedding, some newer. She could not hear anything above the pulsing blood at her temples and it made her search even harsher than it already was. She eventually found a folded parchment with a barely touched sealed. The towers of the Twins. _The Freys are in contact with the Hand of the king?_ She frowned and retrieved the letter before she stood up. She had to hide it to be able to read it once safe and…

 

“Lady Lannister?”

 

She froze when she realized she was facing a man… Or what looked like one anyway. Varys. The Master of whisperers, the Spider. The Eunuch. The most dangerous schemer of the kingdom may ahead of Littlefinger himself. She hid the hand that held the parchment behind her back even though she knew he had seen it all and it was way too late to worry. Her heart’s beats had slowed down and it sounded like a death-knell. For the second time in her life she felt the sheer terror of being caught in the act, but she knew that there was no way out this time. She raised her head and faced the Spider.

 

“Lord Varys. What are you doing here?

\- It seems that I could ask you the same question,” he replied with a thin smile. “I remember that your Lord husband said that you are not supposed to be here during daytime… And I am more than certain that you are not supposed to search the Hand’s desk.

\- I had forgotten something.

\- Have you found it?”

 

It was a game. She was a prey and he was slowly weaving his web to her until the very moment where she would be cornered – then he would end her. And it would be quick: as soon as Tywin would know, she would be thrown into a cell. A few days of negotiation with the Great Septon later, their marriage would be annulled and she would be executed. She had just lost her own game for a letter she had not even read. Maybe it was just congratulations for their wedding. _This sick joke._

Varys did not seem amused, though. His smile was distant and he seemed genuinely curious. He looked like he was trying to imagine why she would be there, and she would have done the same: she would have loved to know everything before whispering to the ear of the executioner. He moved closed with his sickening lilac purple toga and tilted his head.

 

“Well?

\- Enough venom, Spider. I know that you will do.

\- And what will I do?

\- You will tell the Hand,” she let out. “And I will probably die in a week, as I should have a month ago.

\- How violent your mind is, my Lady. I sincerely wonder what could have motivated a woman as clever and careful as you to be so reckless.”

 

She kept quiet for a long time, unable to find an answer. She could lie, but how would it help her? Varys would eventually find out the true reason and it would matter very little once Tywin would know she had dared defy his express order. In any event and for lack of an actual solution, she nodded and sighed, defeated. _Defeated by a Spider._ Her father would not have stand the thought and she barely could.

 

“I was searching for information about Robb Stark’s fate.

\- Robb Stark? I thought you were loyal to Lord Stannis Baratheon. Have you changed your mind?

\- I am loyal to no one but myself,” she retorted. Since she was lost, she could as well face Varys’ innuendos. “I wanted to know when and where Lord Lannister wants to get rid of him.

\- What makes you think such a terrible thing will happen?

\- My intuition. It seldom fails me.

\- Except when it comes to warning you than you are not alone, it seems.”

 

The sparring match would have been pleasant enough if it not involved a heavy sword of Damocles above her head. She squeezed the letter in her hand, trying to keep her composure thought it flickered with every smile and every remark of Varys. _Be done with it,_ she thought, almost hoping for Tywin Lannister to storm the room. He did not. She kept still before her torturer with the impression of walking a tightrope he was keeping tight, threatening to release it at any time.

 

“I am afraid that this letter will be of little interest to you,” he seemed to regret. “It only announces the wedding of Edmure Tully and Lady Roslin Frey.

\- The wedding of… It makes no sense. Robb was supposed to marry a Frey girl, not his uncle.

\- Ha, but the power of love. Our dear king Stark fell for a Westerling and perjured himself, so he made amends by offering his uncle instead and accepting to attend the wedding at the Twins.

\- Attend the wedding…” She lowered her eyes, suddenly thoughtful. “Shall Lord Lannister attend it as well?

\- Oh no. Of course not. Only the Freys and most of the North’s armies will.”

 

The Spider’s eyes were gleaming, as if he was expecting some reaction. She did not understand, did not get the stakes. Robb Stark had to make good for failing to keep his promise and it was a poor compensation for Walder Frey to have a daughter wed to a Lord of the Riverlands instead of a potential king, even if said king accepted to attend the wedding and to apologize for his perjury. And she could not see the link between his death and this marriage.

Unless… Unless it was all a gambit, a smoke screen to trap most of the North’s armies. But it was too much, too obvious and as ambitious and tetchy as Lord Frey could be, she had troubles imagining him tainting his own daughter’s wedding with Stark’s blood as well as their bannermen’s, and she could not imagine him defying the antique laws of hospitality. When she raised her eyes to meet Varys’, he motioned her to take a look at the parchment she was holding. She complied and, cautiously, read the supposedly private correspondence of her husband. The prose was as it could be expected from a wedding announcement until she reached the last lines.

 

_Lord Robb Stark as well as his party and his army led by Lord Roose Bolton will attend the wedding._

 

She blinked, surprised by the precision. Especially the second one. _The boundless loyality of the northern houses for the Starks…_ There was one to eventually challenge this supremacy. One, one only. A smile appeared on Varys’ lips when she understood.


	7. Walking the Tightrope

“Lord Bolton leads half of Lord Stark’s armies,” she said for herself as much as for Varys. “Why would he need to attend the wedding? Someone should stay behind to watch over the troops…

\- Unless he has a personal interest in attending the wedding. Lord Roose is unmarried and though he has a bastard son, it is a safe bet that he is searching for a wife. House Frey does not fail to offer unmarried women.

\- What are you doing, Lord Varys?

\- I am talking with one of the smartest women of the realm, my Lady,” he smiled. “What else would I do?

\- Toy with a prey.

\- Oh but you are no prey.”

 

He crossed his arms under his large sleeves and smiled even more. Gritting her teeth, she opened the chest to put the letter back. There was nothing else to do, if not trying to gloss over it to find a secret meaning. It all made more sense every second that passed. Robb Stark could not have ordered his main general to accompany him, it must have been a personal wish… Wish that could not be limited to a potential marriage – he did not need to attend the wedding to be given one of the many daughters and granddaughters of Walder Frey. He would be only too happy to get rid of some of them.

But she could not imagine _why_ the Boltons would betray a king that won every battle. She could not imagine _why_ they would ally with the Freys, allied themselves with the Lannisters, either. It all resembled a vast conspiracy that had a bittersweet taste to it, as if the idea was too simple and yet too complicated. If Tywin Lannister really hoped to take the North by using the Bolton’s ambition against the Stark, then he did not understand her speech: the northerners would _never_ accept Lord Roose’s tutelage if they learnt that it was his fault if their young king was dead. And if he was to attend the wedding, then it meant that he was to participate in the massacre the Freys were planning.

 

“Am I to understand,” she cautiously put forward. “That you are not planning on telling the Lord Hand?

\- It would ruin a surprise I foresee to be extraordinary, my Lady.

\- A surprise? What surprise?

\- You, my Lady. You could be the greatest surprise of this realm and…” He nodded, as if he was imagining it. “I wish to witness it. I think you should leave. I came to see your husband and I believe he is not too far off.

\- I cannot walk past my guard without an explanation.”

 

 _If I have to rest my case unto his hands, then I may as well try everything._ She did not know if she could trust him and shrugged off the flames of hope he had lighted in her mind, but if he really wanted her to live, she needed him. He nodded, as if he had not thought about this part of the problem, and went to the door. He gestured her to follow. It felt both like stepping into the wolf’s den – _the Lion’s_ , she corrected, and getting saved. The mix was the strangest thing she had experienced. She followed him outside, for lack of other ways to literally get out of the situation.

She stepped out and immediately faced the guard. His face was deformed with anger. She walked back to let Varys deal with this… Small issue. Nothing she could say would appease him and she had to trust him, even if she felt like committing suicide at the mere idea. She lowered her eyes, feigning guilt.

 

“What is she doing outside her room?” the soldier almost screamed. “Lord Lannister has been…

\- I invited her to enter the Lord Hand’s apartments when I heard this horrible roar. I was afraid that some boors would storm the Red Keep and I did not want the Hand’s wife to be at risk.

\- Why didn’t you tell me? I have to watch her all day long.

\- I thought you were busy pursuing the responsible party,” he explained, looking sorry. “My humblest apologies, messer.

\- I have to report this to Lord Lannister…

\- No need.”

 

 _And there I thought my day could not get any worse._ She gritted her teeth and turned to the newcomer. Well, new. Tywin Lannister had just finished his climbing of the stairs that led to his apartments and faced her. She raised her head and lost her mask. It was useless and dangerous when he was around – it was the best way to get him to understand that she was hiding something. Varys deeply bowed before him, as did the soldier. She simply curtsied respectfully.

He was not stupid, though, and shot an imperious gaze to the guard and the Spider. They both stood up and the latter placidly smiled. She vaguely felt like a trapped animal, waiting for one of these men to kill her already. She made sure her distress was not visible and most likely succeeded since Tywin did not even look at her.

 

“Lord Varys, you are thanked for your concern for my wife’s safety,” he continued with a cold voice. “But I do not think she risked anything in her apartments.

\- Someone threw something at the glasses of the apartment next to your Lady wife’s,” the guard retorted. “We did not manage to know what the object was. It broke when it hit the windows.

\- Such a useful investigation you led, then. Go back to your post. As for you, Lady Shara, you can return to your apartments.”

 

She bowed a bit deeper and vanished after a last glance to Varys. He followed her husband in his room. _If you betray me…_ She would do nothing for lack of being able to do anything but cry. She sat in front of her dressing table and let out a deep sigh, finally unwinding. She buried her face in her hands and tried to find a rational explanation to what just happened.

Varys, the Spider, the most mysterious man of the kingdom had just given her his backing. _Why?_ Was he loyal to Stannis? Was he disloyal to the Lannisters, and allied with her hoping she would find a way to oust them? She had no idea and the mere thought of not knowing anything about the Master of the whisperers’ intention had her puzzled. And worried. _I must make sure he is not talking,_ she realized.

She took away the mirror and she put her ear against the hole. She heard nothing at first except paper noises and chairs. She insisted, her eyes on the door to make sure the guard would not catch her. It took a few more instants before she heard Varys engaging the conversation.

 

“I suppose you wanted to see me regarding the last preparations of our good king and the Lady Margaery’s wedding?

\- Not exactly, no, but I did want to see you regarding a wedding,” Tywin corrected hum. “Have you received any confirmation about the Twins’ wedding?

\- I received no negation, my Lord. Were Lord Frey and Lord Bolton unclear about it?

\- No, they were clear. I just want to be certain the plan is unfolding like we expected.”

 

 _Touché._ Varys did not want to confirm nor did he want to contradict her theory, but she was right. The plan was dubious, but she was right. Use the Frey’s wrath and the Bolton to oust the king in the North and get rid of a cumbersome enemy… And use the latter to dominate the North. But it would not work, at least not efficiently: it would only divide the bannermen, some accepting the traitors’ domination while the others would wait for the right moment to stab them in the back like they would do to Robb Stark.

Unless it was exactly the point. Dividing the North’s troops to make sure Roose Bolton would not become another Robb Stark. It was clever, if it was the case… But she did not like it. If she wanted to help Stannis Baratheon, and help herself at the same time, she could not allow the North to be divided, even if it meant leaving it to the Boltons for a while. She ran a tired hand across her face. Once again she would have to address the subject. He would get used to it, at some point. 

She moved away from the wall when she heard the door opening. She pretended she was reading one of her three books and did not look at her guard. She waited for a couple of seconds before she resumed her listening, trying to understand what they were saying now.

 

“This war shall soon be over, my Lord,” Varys replied to a question she had not heard. “Then it will be a matter of time before Stannis Baratheon loses the very little support he has left and peace comes back.

\- Peace will not be something we can afford before long. The North will forever remain a thorn in the kingdom’s side.

\- The North can be tamed. I gather your wife knows a lot about it.

\- Would you happen to know something about Lady Shara that I ignore, Lord Varys?” Tywin asked. She tensed. “It would be wise for you to tell me.

\- Nothing, my Lord, except that she has always been knowledgeable and helpful when it comes to Sansa Stark. Do you doubt her still?”

 

What a stupid question. She rolled her eyes and focused even more. She was curious to know what Tywin Lannister thought of her – just so she could know where the line not to be crossed was. She felt like she had managed to make herself a useful hostage, more than a dangerous traitress. At least a bit, and it made her feel safer. But perhaps it was all a trap and she had fallen in it head first.

 

“She is and shall remain a threat to the crown,” he replied after a while. “I am quite certain her advices serve her at least as much they serve his majesty.

\- Of course. Do you know if she knows about the Trident’s wedding?

\- No one knows outside the great houses.

\- It means that she could know.” She imagined the smile of the Spider – both amused and respectful. “Have a great evening, lord Hand.”

 

There was an exchange of pleasantries, a door opened and the silence. She put the mirror back and kept quiet, lost in her thoughts. She did not know when the wedding was to happen, but she was quite certain it would be some time soon. If she wanted to interfere, she had to do it now – it would take a day or two before the information would reach them, if they had to. Communication was not made any easier in wartime.

She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun and it gave a severity to her traits that her smile barely compensated. Her dress was made of deep orange fabric and it highlighted her eyes. She was determined and it was almost physically visible – maybe it was what inclined Tywin Lannister to listen to her. Her determination. She would have to remember that. She would not wait for the night to come to talk to him. She had to make sure he would not run away or pretend she had to sleep. She needed to have a conversation with him, with a beginning and an end. She left her room and knocked her husband’s. He ordered her to enter. 

When she did, he narrowed his eyes and frowned. He ousted the guard with a sway of his hand and gestured her to sit in front of him. She complied in silence. He resumed what he was doing, which meant annotating documents, expecting her to explain what she was doing here. She waited for a while before she actually did it. She was searching for the best way to engage the conversation.

 

“Are you going to tell me what you are doing here in daytime,” he said, still reading some parchment. “Or do I need to call your guard?

\- I think you will find what I come to tell you much interesting, Lord Lannister. I learnt that Edmure Tully is to wed Roslyn Frey at the Twins soon enough.

\- You know very much. May I ask how you came to know about this wedding?”

 

His equal voice did not temper the coldness of his eyes when they met hers. She had already prepared an answer to this question, even if it was not really satisfying. There was no satisfying answer anyway. She was not going to tell him she had searched his desk and found a letter, and she was not going to tell him his own advisor had willingly spread enough clues for her understand the entirety of his _secret_ plan.

 

“The court talks too much and too loudly,” she simply said. “I suspect this wedding is nothing but a smokescreen, though. Am I wrong, Lord Hand?

\- Another one of your whimsical theories, I am afraid.

\- Most of my theories happened to be rather true until now.

\- You ache to elaborate,” he let out, putting his quill down. “By all means, do so before I get tired of this conversation.”

 

He tilted his head and frowned even deeper. She was almost sure he knew that she knew, or that he thought she talked way too much to only have a theory about it. She smiled and rested her arms on both armrests as if seating on a throne and not simply a fancy chair, much like Cersei Lannister when she commented what her son said, perched on the Iron Throne. She did not envy her position – as soon as Margaery would be married to Joffrey, she would become queen dowager. She had to admit she had a regal presence. At least until she felt directly insulted.

 

“Robb Stark will attend this wedding and it not surprising given the humiliation he put the Freys through when he wed the Westerling girl. Besides and in this respect, you seem to have troubles with your bannermen,” she noted. “Love really is stronger than duty, I presume?

\- Do not try my patience, my Lady.

\- Forgive me. As I was saying, Robb Stark will attend the wedding with his inner circle. What I find most surprising is that Lord Bolton, his second-in-hand, will attend it as well. Wiseness would command to let him behind to check on the troops. Wiseness may not be the youngs’ virtue, but I am confident that it was not a randomly taken decision. Lord Frey and Lord Bolton probably allied to get rid of the cumbersome king in the North.” She paused and tilted her head. “But there is something missing here.

\- What is this something?

\- The force that would drive the two men to feel safe enough to dare do something like this. A guarantor. You.”

 

His head rested on his hand, he brushed his jaw and stared at her. She could only hope that it was not a trap, a way to hide the actual plan – but she doubted it. It was too complicated to be a mere decoy. Tywin Lannister was a man of diplomacy, of obscure plans and backstabbing, but he did not appreciate complexity for the sake of it. He wanted results, not a performance made of complicated schemes and involving a high degree of risk to be abstruse and unefficient.

She did not move, awaiting a reaction as she used to await a reaction from her father when they discussed theories or recent events. The feeling was strange; she spent hours debating history, politics and economy in the same room, in front of the same desk. He only was her father during these precious moments and he only started to act as such when she was old enough to be able to keep up with his wits. The rest of the time, he barely granted her his attention. It made sense: she only had his attention when she acted like the boy he wanted, so she kept the illusion alive that she could replace this boy. 

And there she was, and it felt like facing him as a girl of fourteen, except that she was not fourteen anymore and that the man who faced her was her husband and her greatest foe. He straightened up and recorked his inkwell. _A good sign? A bad one?_

 

“I have no idea where you gleaned enough information to reach such a theory,” he slowly said. “I am quite certain that it is not thanks to the courtiers’ gossips that you deduced so much.

\- Am I wrong, Lord Hand?

\- Why would I answer you? For you to find a way to warn the Starks in the same mysterious way that allowed you to guess so much?

\- Why would I warn the Starks?”

 

He frowned, surprised. She replied with an amused smile. Her father thought highly of the Starks, of Eddard, his wife and his children. He was the former Lord of the North’s ward and he considered him as a sort of pupil, of son without the title. He had made sure she would admire their honour, their bravery, their boundless loyalty. She had spent months in Winterfell as a young girl.

But she quickly understood that their honour would be their downfall and that none of them were ready for what was to come. When she had received Eddard Stark in her apartments for the first time, she had lost all hope to have him succeed when her father failed. He had sinned through pride, thought he was beyond suspicions. Ned Stark had sinned through excess of honour as she expected him to. He sounded his family’s death knell the very day he refused to keep quiet; the day he refused to act on his alliance with Stannis Baratheon. She could do nothing for them all, it was too late. Robb Stark was doomed to fall and she would not fall with him.

 

“Perhaps I was mistaken about you,” Tywin declared, brushing his beard. “I always thought you were a parade weapon, a court schemer barely talented enough to foment impressive yet harmless conspiracies. I thought that the Battle of the Blackwater was a proof. Your plots did not prevent the rescue of the city and Stannis Baratheon’s defeat.

\- It spared most of his fleet and troops.

\- Even so. Your plot changed nothing in the long run, it just sent you straight to the Red Keep’s cells. I brought you out because I did not see any serious threat in you. I just saw a woman barely past childhood dreaming of holding the kingdom in her palms.

\- What do you see now?”

 

She straightened too and sustained his gaze. She blinked when she realized that for the first time since they were married, Tywin Lannister was smiling. It was not a frank smile, nor was it an agreeable smile. It was a mere smirk, a crooked smile barely visible, but a smile all the same. She would not have been able to know what it meant, what it implied. A mix of amusement and interest. _Interest?_ It was a first. She released the armrests and crossed her hands on her legs. This conversation was taking an interesting turn. Potentially lethal, but interesting still.

 

“A true weapon, nice to look at but sharp nonetheless. The embodiment of your father’s weapon, perhaps the one weapon your father ignored he had.

\- Most of those who underestimated me paid the ultimate price for it,” she continued. “My father did not listen to me and he died poisoned. Ned Stark did not listen and your grandson had him executed.

\- None of this has anything to do with some desire for esteem. You are not seeking glory.

\- And does a weapon seek, according to you?

\- A weapon,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. “Seeks nothing but what it is ordered to seek. And I do not think you seek what Stannis Baratheon is pursuing.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. It was rare for him to mention her supposed loyalty to the eldest brother of the Baratheons – she had neither confirmed nor denied the rumours. It had been deduced from her trying successfully to help the pretender to seize the throne, and her failure to actually manage to do it, but she was never interrogated or questioned about it. They had just decided that she had to be loyal to the stern Lord of Dragonstone. And it was rational, since she helped him and none else.

But Tywin Lannister did not settle for simplistic reasoning. He knew better than anyone that through someone’s loyalty, you know more about the personal desires of this person than about their true feelings regarding their Lord. It explained the distance he kept with his own bannermen. She smiled and slowly shook her head.

 

“Would you happen to know what I am pursuing, Lord Lannister?

\- I do not have this ambition. You are more complex than meets the eye and more knowledgeable than you suggest.

\- The greatest of strength is to be underestimated,” she noted. “You are right, I do not seek esteem. You yourself did not take me seriously.

\- It is now a done thing. Some consider a weapon can change ownership.

\- And yet it remains soaked with its first owner’s blood.”

 

She tilted her head. He did not believe for one second her remark – and neither did she. She knew she would never cross his line, even if she did not know where it exactly stood. Even if she would never let him know her uncertainty, as she never let anyone get too close. Stannis Baratheon made the most of her cleverness and abilities without ever knowing her completely. He was a too-practical man to be interested in this sort of thing. It was not her husband’s take on things.

 

“Why Stannis Baratheon?”


	8. Wise men wonder while strong men die

For lack of an easy answer, it took her a while to reply. She never wondered why, never searched for the reasons that motivated her to follow Stannis Baratheon and none else. She never had the chance: it felt natural, like the continuity of everything she had done and said before. She simply took over her father’s work and her father followed the eldest of the Baratheons brother. To be honest, she had never imagined herself loyal to another of the several candidates to the throne – there was always at least one thing to prevent them from being competent rulers. She tilted her head and fidgeted a trinket on the desk.

 

“The question was never ‘why him’, but ‘why not them’,” she said. “I do not think you really want to know why I did not choose another… Side.

\- I will not beg you. Speak.

\- Very well. The War of the Five Kings, is that how it is called? Five kings…” She shook her head with a smile. “Renly Baratheon. A charming young man, courteous and diplomatic. None of these qualities make a good king. Balon Greyjoy… Do I really need to say anything about Balon Greyjoy? An old fool, dreaming of a crown he already lost once. Joffrey Baratheon.

\- Careful, my Lady,” he interrupted her starkly. “Do not forget who you are talking to.

\- I do not. I will simply say what you already know; _his majesty_ the king Joffrey was not raised like a king and has none of the necessary qualities of a monarch.”

 

She waited, gauging him. He did not seem too moved by what she had just said. He was just staring at her with the same severity as ever, with a tad of understanding. She said nothing but sheer truth: he was not made, and would never be made, to be king. He was cruel, vile, proud in the extreme, violent. He was much like some Targaryens, but not the best of them. _Well, his conception does resemble the Dragonlord’s after all,_ she mused. She would not add this detail to her description, just as she would not clarify that she wanted him dead and buried. Tywin would not allow it. He was aware of the… Vexing characteristics of his lineage, but what he accepted at a personal level would not be accepted from anyone else. Especially her.

 

“What about Robb Stark? You seem to be eager to see him die.

\- Robb Stark never had the ambition to rule over Westeros. He seeks retribution for his father and wants his sisters back, even if it means destroying King’s Landing in the process. He does not have the necessary foresight to be a serious candidat. What would he do, once the royal family ousted and the capital plundered? I am not sure even he knows. He is chasing vengeance like a dog chases horses, but there is no telling what he would do with it if he ever caught it.

\- And you consider Stannis Baratheon to be a serious candidate,” he noted, rested on the back of his chair. “A harsh, dull, plain man with no appeal for diplomacy.

\- An imperfect man, perhaps even a mediocre king. But he had my father’s loyalty.”

 

 _Even if he died before he declared it._ She lowered her eyes on her hand for a while. Stannis Baratheon was a born leader, a brilliant tactician and an impressive general. But he was neither a speaker nor a crowd-man. The people did not know him, and the very few that did did not appreciate him. Not as much as they loved Renly and his charming smiles, or Robb Stark and his honour. Not as much as they used to love king Robert. She was not able to say if, once seating on the Iron Thone, he would make a good king. But he would be a better king than the four others taken together. More important yet, he knew her and would protect her, would offer her a prominent place if he ever sat on the throne. He knew better than anyone what she was capable of. Well, better than anyone until Tywin Lannister got interested in her. Perhaps now there were two men who knew who she really was.

 

“Your father would not have condoned the Starks’ killing,” he raised. “As high as honour, is it right? Maybe there is more Lannister in you than I thought.

\- Honour is a very relative virtue. You wish to see Robb Stark dead and you are ready to have every laws of hospitality besmirched for that. I am realistic. I cannot do anything to stop you.

\- Do you consider this plan dishonourable?

\- You ask for my advice,” Shara smiled. “A first.

\- I do not ask for your advice. This decision is taken, I want an answer.”

 

She nodded and tilted her head. Killing a man during a marriage was an odious act, despicable and vile. But Robb Stark had to die, it was a fact. Tywin Lannister would wage war until there is no soldier left to fight and blood to spill, until the king in the North is dead and gone. Long battles would be necessary to end the North’s armies and hope to reach the young king; more battles meant more blood, more death. In the Hand of the king’s mind, the disloyal slaughter a dozen of men was better than the loyal, honest killing of hundreds of others. _The end justified the means._ A reasoning her father would have heard, but _never_ condoned or understood. It was what differentiated them both; it was what differentiated the dead from the living these days.

 

“You would spare hundreds of soldiers’ lives by only killing their king. Some would consider it quite a noble gesture. I do not. I just recognize its necessity.

\- So it is true,” he said, another phantom of a smile on his lips. “A weapon, an actual weapon. Moral considerations bother you much less than I thought. You claim to be your father’s heir, but you are very different from him.

\- I am alive and he is not. Had I been his worthy heir that I would have preferred death over the marriage you imposed me.

\- And you would have died.

\- Indeed,” she granted him. “Nobly. With honour.”

 

Somehow it made her heart tight to admit it. If her father were watching her he would be frozen on the spot realizing how compromised she was. Accepting Robb Stark’s calculated death was the final straw; she had not even benefited from it yet. _I am sorry, Father, but it is no longer about noble battles and elegant spars._ Anyone waging war against the Lannister had to accept to dirty their hands. She would have all the time in the world to cleanse them with _their_ blood.

For now she had to reach the actual reason why she had defied his order not to bother him during daytime: the Bolton’s involvement and its disastrous consequences. She softly cleared her voice and straightened again. She would have much preferred to continue their jesting – she was quite sure she could have got interesting information about Tywin, but she had no idea how much time she had left.

 

“As for you plan,” she said carefully. “Since you asked for my opinion, I think it could be easily improved.

\- I thought I was clear when I said I did not need your opinion.

\- Maybe I feel too comfortable then, because I think I am still telling you.” She mockingly smiled before composing herself again. “If you really want the Boltons to lead the North for you, you cannot let them attend the massacre. The northerners will never forgive it and will never bend the knees to them. A spark would be enough to ignite another rebellion.

\- Maybe it is my precise aim to have them divided. Did you think about it?

\- Of course I did. But I doubt it, you seem to want this war to end, not to last even longer.”

 

She was going to continue when the door opened behind her. She turned to face Cersei… Queen Cersei who suddenly looked as if she was going to explode when she noticed her. _Great, all we needed._ Shara stood up and bowed deeply. The queen was frozen on the spot by the door and staring at her with cold eyes. An incongruous scene she was stepping onto, she had to admit it herself. And it was even more incongruous if she had heard anything from their conversation.

Tywin did not move from his chair. She may have been the queen, but she first and foremost was his daughter. And the gods only knew how respectful the Lannister siblings were of their father, even when he disregarded this respect. A heavy silence lingered in the room before Cersei broke it.

 

“Lord Hand, a word, if you may,” she said with a barely hidden disgust for her _mother-in-law._ “Privately.

\- It so happens that I am busy. We will talk once I am done with Lady Shara.

\- Father, I…

\- I will have you sought at your apartments.”

 

Shara kept still. She was ready to yield and make way for the queen but a glance from her husband had been enough for her to understand that she _would not_ leave. That she was asked to stay. The beautiful face of his daughter turned angry for a short instant, angry and hateful, before it relaxed and composed itself again. Aware that she could not, should not, try him any further, she bowed again and waited for the door to close to stand up.

 _What just happened?_ She slowly turned to Tywin and he simply motioned her to sit again. She did, staring at him. He has just preferred to continue their conversation rather than talking with his daughter, _the queen of Westeros._ _What just happened?_ He must have noticed her dazed look since he frowned and invited her to continue, implying that she had not much time left with him.

 

“If…” She closed her eyes for a second to find her composure. _The Boltons._ “If you decide to keep the Boltons away from the Twins, no one will ever know that they are involved in Robb Stark’s assassination. The northerners will accept his tutelage until a Stark comes back to Winterfell.

\- Whose Stark are you thinking about?

\- You betrothed her to some distant Lannister to stop the Tyrells, but I doubt this Daven even knows about it,” she smiled again. “She just needs… To run away. Or at least, this is what they all need to think.

\- Lady Shara,” he let out, looking less severe and almost amused. “I was wondering when you would cross the line. Do you really think I will let you take the lead again?”

 

 _No, but one can hope._ She shrugged. Evacuating Sansa from the capital would not be an easy thing to do, especially if she had to hide it from Baelish and Varys… Well, Baelish especially. Varys would know, some way or the other, but it was still possible. She just needed a ship, it was the easiest part, and someone trustworthy to take the girl to the North. It was the more complex part of the plan. _No one_ in the capital would ever risk their life for her, at least not in a genuine way. It was not possible to take a Bolton so far south without raising concerns and challenge Tywin’s plan regarding the North.

She sustained his gaze still, aware that it was this part of her plan that would be the most complicated to advance. Tywin was brushing his beard thoughtfully, as if he was wondering how much this plan could benefit her and damage him. Or as if he was weighting up the pros and cons.

 

“It is not about letting me take any lead. If Sansa Stark manages to reach the North, she will be considered as Robb’s heir and everyone will be satisfied. Her incompetence will allow the Bolton to rule in your best interest. She will not see clear through them, not more than her brother.

\- And you believe that I will trust some sellsword with the informal escape of my greatest asset?

\- Who talked about a sellsword?” She frowned. “I will organize it.

\- You will? Watched as you are, you think you can act unnoticed?

\- You do not know how easy it is to slip through a cage’s bars, Lord Hand.”

 

Silence came back and they kept on staring at each other. He, suspiciously, cold, warry and her, assured, proud and fierce. She could do it, she was certain she could. She just needed a public event, something that would attract more attention than herself… Joffrey’s wedding, for example. She would have enough time, enough space to evacuate the girl. She simply needed an intermediary. _I will find one._ She was certain she could.

 

“Are you sure you want to risk it? If you are caught, you will suffer the fate I promised you.

\- I am aware of that. If I was not sure I could do it, I would not be here in broad daylight,” she declared before she continued. “And if you did not believe I could do it, you would not have dismissed her majesty like you did.

\- If I ever hear about your scheme I will consider it a failure and you will be sent to Casterly Rock,” he retorted, standing up. _Final curtain._ “If I ever hear that this plan benefits in any way other interests, you will executed.

\- Nothing new under the sun then.”

 

She stood as well and curtsied. He lingered in front of her and raised her chin with a light finger, obliging her to stand straight. His green eyes were furiously shining but she could not tell if it was of curiosity, interest or annoyance. The three suited him. He eventually nodded, satisfied by what he had seen in her eyes, and gestured her to leave. She did and returned to her apartments. She had not eaten yet and found food on her desk, probably brought by her maid. She ate thoughtfully.

Baelish could not be her intermediary. She could not imagine trusting him. Varys would more likely than not tell Tywin, even if he knew about the terms of their agreement. The possibilities were both infinite and reduced – Tyrion Lannister? He was waging an open war against his father but had no actual reason to betray him this badly. There was no northerner left in the capital, they had all been killed or lost. Of course there were knights loyal to the Starks left, but they were far away. There was the she-knight, Brienne of Tarth; she had heard about some pledge of loyalty for Catelyn Stark. She had no idea where she was now. Perhaps she was part of the Stark’s party heading to the Twins to lose their life. She sighed and ran a hand across her face. She just got involved in something much bigger than her and it called for extreme discretion. _Again._

Much like when she had accepted Stannis’ mission to prepare the capital for his arrival. She did manage to do it, at least partially – if the Tyrells had not come, he would be sitting on the throne, but back then she was mostly free. Tywin Lannister would not lessen his watch at all to ease her way. She was almost sure he had authorized this to be able to get rid of her for good without the need to dirty his hands.

 _Or perhaps…_ The real reason behind their marriage was still unknown to her, and it meant she was not useless yet. Unless poor results regarding the Stark plan changed his minds. _Do not think about it, stay focused._ She would need to speak with Sansa Stark… And turn her into an unwilling ally. 

Unifying the North did not just ease Tywin Lannister’s plan – even if she was indeed helping him, though she did not like the idea. Unifying the North would also help Stannis Baratheon to find a whole kingdom to support his war against the south. It would all depend on Sansa, though, and on his ability to convince her she was a tool in the Boltons’ hand. _The old northern coin,_ she remembered suddenly. It was on the very few coins left of the antique money of the North, before the Conquest, used by the First Men. Rough coins made of bronze or tin, minted with the Stark wolf on the heads and with a weirwood on the tails. Stannis Baratheon had one of them, offered by Jon Arryn for his thirtieth birthday. She smiled. It would be her recognition token.

The day soon came to its end. She gave up on her barren searches and immersed herself in one of her books, realizing it was more than time to regain the marital room once again only when the light grew too dim to read. Her maid came to help her change into her nightclothes. This time she had nothing to tell him before sleeping. She was tired now, by the day and its unforeseen developments. Baelish, Varys, Tywin, Cersei. The odd interest her husband now expressed toward her left her meditative. She had no idea if it was positive or negative, just like the plot he had to devise on her own.

When she entered the room again, Tywin was at his desk again reading parchments. She sat by the dressing table and braided her hair as usual, in a total silence. It was not heavy and it was not disturbing either. She had nothing to say and he was working – easy as that.

 

“One of the queen’s maids saw you with Petyr Baelish,” he said with no emphasis. “I suppose it was just useless banter?

\- He was as pleased as her majesty to know that you heed my chatter. If it is useless for you, then I suppose that it was indeed just banter.

\- Littlefinger is a traitor in the making. I am surprised you do not appreciate each other.

\- I suspect he is the reason why I have been arrested,” she let out, tying her hair. “I am sure you can understand why I have very little affection for him.”

 

He neither confirmed nor denied her thought, he simply finished what he was doing. Perhaps he was wondering what it meant, who knew? She could not guess his every thought even if she would have much preferred to. She eventually turned to look at him. Baelish was not longer Master of the coin and Tywin Lannister himself had entrusted him with a mission. She had no idea of what kind of mission someone like him could be entrusted with and she did not want to insist to know and anger her husband – it was very unlikely that it involved her anyway. The Vale was too far, too neutral and too useless for the Lord of Casterly Rock to care about it, whatever he could pretend. It did not help her guess what he really wanted from her, though.

 

“If I were you,” she objected. “I would not trust him.

\- What makes you think I trust this petty nobleman?

\- You entrusted him with a mission, or so he said. I do not want to know what it is, perish the thought, I simply say that I would not trust him.

\- It is not surprising,” he let out, briefly raising her eyes in her direction. “Since you consider him responsible for your bitter failure. Why do you not simply accept that you are not as unerring as you pretend and that you plan was just bound to fail?

\- Because it would please you too much, Lord Hand.”

 

Her own eyes started to shine with irony. Tywin’s with mockery and amusement. He did not smile, though – it would have pleased her too much as well. She added nothing and excepted nothing more, and blew the candles around the bed out. Lulled by his quill’s noises on the paper, by the wind blowing from the opened windows and by her own thoughts, she quickly fell asleep. _At the other side of the realm,_ she mused. _King Robb Stark is sleeping through one of his last nights._ Guilt tightened her throat before exhaustion supplanted everything and annihilated her regrets, remorses and fears. _Too many fears I have._


	9. Waltz on the brink of ruins

A few days passed, eventless and quiet. She did not hear about Robb Stark, the Twins or her own plan. She had to wait, so she waited. She spent time with Margaery who seemed to be quite fond of her – unless she simply obeyed her grandmother’s orders to win her over, even artificially. To her surprise, she realized that there was no rumour regarding her influence over Tywin. _I suppose he would never let anyone say anything of the sort._ Especially since it was generally not true. He only heeded her thoughts because they could benefit him and despite the fact that they benefited her too. But after all, she was under control. _For now, my Lord._

She so easily got used to the situation that when the news arrived that Robb Stark, his mother and most of his bannermen had been slaughtered by the Freys at the Twins, she almost did not have to pretend to be surprised. She made sure that only the Freys were involved in the massacre – she even heard that Roose Bolton had immediately seized control over the armies to avenge his king. _Or rather, follow the actual king of Westeros,_ she corrected.

The Lannisters were jubilant – the queen was beaming, the Hand paraded with her and everything gold and red in the court danced, laughed, joked about the king in the North’s death. They said his wolf’s head had been sewed on his shoulders. They said they had been march all around the Twins. _The king who lost the North._ His mother’s throat had ben cut. His men, his family. His uncle, Edmure Tully, was now prisoner with his young wife. The North was at arm’s reach now and no news could please the Lannisters more.

As for herself, she now had to find the right person to help her with her plan regarding Sansa Stark. She was the centrepiece of many games now, including hers, and she had to keep an eye on her. She had made sure a ship would stay in King’s Landing harbour, and be at her disposal – the captain had an obligation to her since she had managed to convince her father not to kill him a few years ago. He was only too happy to get rid of it. She did not exactly trust him, but it was the best option she had. _My head is still very much on my shoulders, so I guess I made no mistake._ She had to continue this way.

The perfect intermediary came exactly when she was thinking about asking the captain’s son to seize Sansa in the person of Brienne of Tarth. She was supposedly dead at the Trident, but she arrived the very day of the Red Wedding, as they already called it. There was a man with her, a man no one recognized at first. He had long, blond hair but so dirty that they looked brown, a rough beard, gaunt features and he missed a hand… And yet. And yet this man, this prisoner, this pauper was none else than Jaime Lannister, the splendid twin brother of queen Cersei, the incredible son of Tywin Lannister, the bright Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, now armless and broken.

And he arrived with Brienne the Beauty, though she had nothing beautiful other than the name. The she-knight that swore fealty to Catelyn Stark. She found her across an alley in the gardens. She was trying to run away from the court and their questions. The woman was in a pitiful state as well – she was wearing rags, her horsey face was more grey than pink with exhaustion. _Poor girl,_ she thought as she walked closer, her guard at her heels. She looked at her with both wariness and tiredness, as if she was done running away but did not want to indulge in the courtiers' curiosity anymore. _If only she knew._

 

“Fear not,” she said in a soft voice. “I am not going to question you, or mock you. I am Lady Shara Ar… Lannister, wife of the Lord Hand.

\- Brienne of Tarth, daughter of…

\- Lord Selwyn of Tarth. My father Lord Jon Arryn and him exchanged many letters, I remember. It is an honour to meet you.

\- Me also… My Lady.”

 

She awkwardly bowed, hindered by her clothes and much likely by her wounds. She hardly understood what she was doing with Jaime Lannister, except that he was supposed to be detained by Robb Stark and his mother in Riverrun. _Unless he ran away?_ She would not come with him, it made no sense. She gestured her to follow her and she led them in a very less visited area of the palace’s gardens. She followed her, keeping her eyes lowered as if she was scared of crossing hers. Yet it was the most beautiful thing she had – her eyes were lively, shiny, and incredibly blue. _Much like the sapphires of house Tarth._ Of the island, more precisely.

 

“The queen will surely reward you for bringing her brother back,” she noted. “My husband himself must be pleased to have his son back.

\- It was my duty, my Lady.

\- Your duty?” She paused, frowning, before she smiled and shook her head. “What am I saying? I told you I would not question you. Do you want to rest? I can call maids to take care of you…

\- I do no wish to stay, my Lady.”

 

She nodded. Her duty, of course. Lady Catelyn was the duty and she was dead. What could be more important to a woman like her than her sworn fealty? _Obeying the woman she is loyal to, probably._ It made no sense, the only duty she could have was to bring the Stark girls back home.

But she needed to go south for that. Unless Lady Catelyn knew more than her, no one had seen Arya Stark ever since her father’s death. _Could it be that it is all a scheme?_ A shame that it would not work… She smiled and turned to the huge woman. She took her dirty hands in hers and stared right at her eyes. Blue against blue, azure against sky. Her guard was listening, he had been replaced by a more competent colleague. _I need to be subtle._ And hope she would understand.

 

“Then for your sake I must tell you that Lady Catelyn is dead. She and her traitor son Robb Stark have been killed by Walder Frey and his family at the Twins.

\- What?” She seemed genuinely shocked. Shara even feared that she would cry. “I am… I… I do not know what to say. Thank you for telling me.

\- I do not know how you would have been told otherwise and I would rather… Tell you. I know how close Lady Catelyn and you were.”

 

She resumed her stroll. Brienne, lost in her despair and sadness, seemed to be unable to process what she really meant. Shara had heard about this… Strange alliance between Ned Stark’s widow and the she-knight via Baelish before he decided it was better to betray her rather than keeping her among his allies. _He will kick himself soon enough._

But she must have been one of the very few to know about it so far from Riverrun, hence her surprise. She added nothing. She could not tell her everything just now, she had to wait for the wedding. She would make sure she would stay in the capital until the marriage and she would find a way to have her understand she had to take the last Stark far, very far from the capital. And she would have her do it.

 

“It is such a marvel that Lady Sansa is safe here. I can only imagine what terrible fate would have befallen her if she had been with her brother.

\- The Frey broke the sacred laws of hospitality,” she sorely replied. “The gods will punish them.

\- The gods have curious ways to punish the worst monsters.”

 

She let silence linger between them, before she finally insisted and summoned the maids that were walking nearby. She asked them to take care of the _Lady Brienne._ She winced and hesitated, but she eventually gave up. Shara smiled and kept still in the middle of the alley, satisfied with her plan. _Oh, well, plan. She appeared like an evidence, hopefully she will remain one._ She thanked her lucky star for _finally_ helping her and went back to her apartments.

Tywin regularly left new books on her dressing table, between one and three every time depending on the progression of his agents in their inspection. She knew that some would never come back – her heraldry atlas was filled with noted regarding potential alliances between different houses of the Seven Kingdoms, and even if it did not give him more evidence regarding her felony, he would not take any risks. It was probably already burnt and it was better this way. She had mourned it already. 

What was rather surprising with the general atmosphere was that it switched between constant fear that the war would reach the capital, euphoria that at least one battle had been won and anticipation for the royal wedding. And in truth, the closer it got, the more the castle transformed. Flowers appeared literally everywhere, Tyrell, Baratheon and Lannister banners floated alongside each other at every corner of the castle and still more noblemen and noblewomen arrived from every side of the realm. _The fact remains that the last wedding was not so festive._ She could not help thinking that the Lannisters were taking a ludicrous risk in inviting so many houses to the wedding. Given the disastrous state of the kingdom, she would have been the first to wish for a discreet marriage, even if it meant organizing a more luxurious one once the war would be over.

She did not need to spy on her husband to know that the last party to arrive would be the Dornish, led by prince Doran Martell. As surprising as it could sound, she seemed to the only one interested by their arrival – except Tyrion Lannister, of course, since he was entrusted with their welcome. _Really, Martells, Lannisters_ and _Tyrells in the same castle?_ She hardly saw how anything could go as planned. Especially since Doran was involved. Elia Martell’s brother, raped and killed by the Mountain, Tywin Lannister’s hound. This marriage would be a sight to behold and she was quite pleased to be able to witness it. The true dissents would appear, as well as any secret plans and velleities for power and vengeance. She was in a rather comfortable position now; she had revealed all of her own, so no one expected more of her if not being some sort of oddity. _I am fine with that. Oddities have eyes to see and ears to listen._

That being said, she did not expect to be allowed to get any close to the Dornish party – they were traitors in the making, and it was unthinkable to put together two traitors in the making. She only heard about their arrival through her spying and through the regular discussions between Tyrion and his father. He had simply announced him they had arrived, and she had not tried to listen any further. Her guard was a bit cumbersome. She was surprised to hear knocks on her door, though, and to face Tywin Lannister. She raised an eyebrow and curtsied quickly. They had not talked since their last meeting – he was too busy with his parchments so their conversations were limited to pleasantries and barely veiled innuendos.

 

“Lord Hand,” she said while standing. “Is there something you need?

\- Prince Oberyn Martell has arrived. He wishes to see you.

\- See me?” She hid her surprise regarding the fact that Oberyn came instead of Doran – Joffrey would be furious. “Is it really sensible, my Lord?

\- I do not fear for your safety.

\- I was not talking about my safety.”

 

She looked at the door behind him. He had closed it. She frowned. She did not know she was famous, especially in Dorne. Of course the news of her marriage had reached them, but wishing to meet her was an entirely other thing. _Maybe it is better to have Oberyn here rather than her brother._ The man was paradoxically easier to sway than his brother. He was a seasoned fighter and a renowned poisoner, but he lived to retaliate, fuck and kill. She could manage with one of these three things, if not with the three. It would not please Tywin but she was not sure anything pleased him anyway.

 

“You know better than anyone that walls have ears,” he simply retorted. “Those ears are listening to the Dornish party.

\- The contrary would have surprised me. Do you need the Dornish so much that you are ready to let the worst of them all talk to me _alone_ , or do you wish to get rid of me?

\- Enough insolence. Your guard will escort you to the prince’s apartments and will wait for you.” He leaned closer to her. “He will not hesitate to interrupt any… Suspicious conversation.

\- That goes without saying.”

 

They exchanged a long stare before she curtsied again and left the room. His eyes followed her, heavy with meaning – she knew exactly what was awaiting her if she dared to be too zealous in every meaning of the term. _No need to be zealous with him._ She followed the guard who led her through several corridors of the Red Keep. It was full of people and she was not sure she had ever seen it so full. Maybe back when Robert Baratheon married Cersei Lannister? She held no memories of it.

He eventually stopped before a finely crafted door and knocked. He did not need to wait for someone to open; it already was, and it opened when he touched it. He gestured her to enter. She did, warily. Sunlight, softened by the stained glasses of the windows and the veils that covered them, filled the room. It was the antechamber but it was filled with clothing, sheets and chests. She lingered around this mess for a second, and resumed her exploration. She found two Martell guards in front of the room’s door. They barely looked at her and did not make a move when they noticed her. _I am really expected, then._

The room was large, but cluttered. Sofas had been brought to the middle of the room and everything was covered by sheets. She froze when she saw that the sheets were moving. It did not take her long to guess that they were people beneath said sheets. She kept by the door for a while, feeling vaguely awkward, and cleared her throat. A head emerged and turned toward her. A smile appeared on his face while the man was surfacing from the sheets, grabbing the first trousers he could find. Had she been as pure as she was supposed to be that she would have blushed.

She did not and simply looked at the man while the sofa was emptying of its occupiers – a young boy she had already seen around and a girl that ran away through a hidden door. She did not really look at them anyway. The man who paid them was much more interesting. _Oberyn Martell._ The Red Viper. He did not look so terrifying, half-naked and a glass of wine in his hand. He was tall and massive, but not more than any other knight. But he did radiate an aura of power and danger, even then, even when he smiled. _Maybe the problem_ is _the smile._ His two eyes, two pools of ink, did not smile. They are as sharp as two arrows, even sharper than his angular face. He wrapped an ochre silky gown around his shoulders and sat on the sofa, as if he had not just left it a second ago.

 

“Do you want to sit, my Lady?” His accent sounded melodious but his voice was slightly hoarse. She refrained from shivering. “Unless you would rather have a glass of wine?-

\- I thank you, prince Oberyn, but no.”

 

He nodded and filled his glass again. She watched him doing so. He must have been forty years of age, but contrary to most of the men once past their prime, he had not lost its lustre at all. Maybe the years had added harshness to his face and to the almost crazed gleam in his eyes. Eight times a father in forty years and now that he faced her, the fact did not surprise her anymore. At all.

 

“I must admit something, Lady Shara,” he said, facing her again. “I did not think your husband would let you come.

\- Lord Tywin is a surprising man.

\- It is not the term I would use but I guess… You do know him better than anyone.”

 

She smiled, and he smiled back. This conversation resembled no conversation she ever had before. The ones with Tywin were jousting, the one with the courtiers were a bunch of lined up lies, with Varys it was innuendos and with Baelish… Well, she did refrain from insulting him and he did the same. With Stannis it was formal, simple and clear. This one sounded like a waltz at the brink of ruin. They exchanged smiles, friendly stares, he was half-naked and she stood before him but the conversation could slip at any time and turn into a fight to death – in the very literal meaning of the phrase. He knew nothing about her except that she was married to his sworn enemy. She knew he was ready for anything that would sooth his bloodlust and need of vengeance. _A wife for a sister,_ she thought.

 

“I do not know what he told you, but I do no wish to poison you, perish the thought. It would such an… Unforgivable waste to kill a woman such as you.

\- He did not mention the possibility,” she said, shaking her head. “Perhaps he knows you better than you think.

\- You always end up knowing you enemy, especially when you spend your time gauging him. Especially when you spend your days with him. You do know that, I gather.”

 

 _He fears nothing._ Because he risked nothing. She risked absolutely everything, though. His apartments were not far from the centre of the castle and it was not isolated. Guards walked past his windows, his doors every second. One of them was waiting for her and was listening, hoping to be able to report something interesting to his master. She raised her chin and shrugged, pretending she did not know what he was talking about. But her eyes did the talking and he gestured the guard to close the door. The lock clicked softly.

And there she was, alone before the Rep Viper and his predatory smile. She was neither stupid nor blind. His stare was not chaste, especially when it lingered on her chest. He looked exotic to her, and she must have looked exotic to him too with her alabaster skin and her hair as pale as his was dark. She tensed, on the lookout. He burst out into laughter and paced back and forth in front of his window.

 

“Do you fear the guards, Lady Lannister? What retribution did your loving husband promise you if you happened to be disobedient?

\- A one-way journey to Casterly Rock,” she replied frankly. She had no reason to lie. “I would rather spare me such a treatment. You can easily understand why.

\- I hated this palace from the second I stepped into the dungeons. You would hate it as well, birds hate cages.

\- As vipers do. What are you doing here, prince Oberyn?

\- I attend a wedding.”

 

His smile softly twisted. The conversation was taking a turn that pleased him, but she was not certain she liked it. Men’s stares did not bother her usually, she was used to it. But his had a dangerous ring to it. He was dangerous, maybe more than Tywin. He was quite predictable himself and she was quite capable of predicting how he would react to whatever happened around him. Oberyn Martell was an unknown element. And she hated unknown.

He got closer and planted his eyes in hers. She kept still and raised an eyebrow when he put a finger under her chin to look at here more precisely. She let him do so for a while, then turned her head and brushed away his hand. Though it was sudden, the move made his smile widen.

 

“Do you know what happened to my sister, my Lady?

\- She was killed during the sack of King’s Landing.” She shook her head and sighed. “But it is not what you want me to hear me say. You want me to tell you she was raped and killed by the Mountain before her dead children. And that Tywin Lannister is responsible for these horrors.

\- You are a quick learner. Perhaps it is why our beloved Hand did not get rid of you yet.

\- Do not assume Tywin Lannister’s intentions, my Prince. Countless lost their lives trying to do it.”

 

He laughed again, satisfied by her answer. Her discomfort seemed to motivate Oberyn Martell to toy with her. _Be done with it,_ she mused. She was not in the mood of playing the meek victim for the Viper, even if he seemed to be just as talented in the battlefield as he was in a room, bantering half-naked. She was not here to banter, though, whatever the word meant for him. She frowned and her face turned back to its usual grave self. He sighed and lost his smile.

 

“How cold you are,” he let out. “Did we not have a good time together?

\- If you wish for my help, prince Oberyn, it is time to ask for it.

\- Your help?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Why would I need your help?

\- To avenge your sister. To kill Tywin Lannister and the Mountain. The three of them, probably.

\- Then _you_ need _my_ help."

 

 _What a…_ She gritted her teeth. He liked that, it was obvious. _Of course_ she needed help. All her ploys would be useless if she could not reach the outside world. No one knew exactly what she was doing and Stannis would sooner get himself killed than understand what she was doing with the North. She needed someone to trust, someone to contact him. Or at least, something with the same goal, or remotely similar. She raised her chin and sustained his victorious gaze.

 

“And what if it were true?

\- Then I would tell you that you are Tywin Lannister’s wife,” he replied with relish. “And I do not trust Lannisters and their in-laws.

\- You would lose a potential ally simply because I am married to one of them?

\- I see nothing different in you.” He seized a strand of her hair between his fingers, smelled it and let it go, his eyes shining. “Golden hair. Ice-cold eyes. Go back to your husband, my Lady.”

 

He snapped his fingers and the doors opened. It was over before it even began. She clenched her fist and turned around, humiliated. _You will not get away with it, Dornishman._


	10. Wicked eyes and wicked hearts

Though not for lack of will, Shara had to postpone her personal vengeance; the wedding was arriving and its preparation obsessed the court. Cersei, in her magnanimity of proud mother, even asked for her advice regarding the organization and the works that were coming to their end. The acrimony between her and Margaery Tyrell was almost palpable and it would have taken a single misplaced remark to make it explode and reveal the hatred they felt for each other. It was not the case, of course, the queen and her _mother-in-law_ were two women perfectly aware of their rank and of the consequences it had, but Shara simply did as she was asked without indulging in personal comments.

Comments that probably would not have pleased Cersei Lannister; Olenna Tyrell had made this wedding her own. Gold and green covered everything that could be covered and it was rare to find any grove that did have the two colours. Some red roses had been placed here and there, the personal banner of king Joffrey decorated a few columns but truth be told, all this decorum emphasized the ruling house of the Reach’s power more than the crown’s. _No one would ever dare to say it, though._ She would not, at least.

If the crimson had left the gardens, it did not leave the dresses – especially hers. Even if it was unthinkable that the Hand’s wife could overshadow the bride, she had to hold her own still. The maids of the Lannister party took up the gauntlet with success. The dress she found near her dressing table the day of the wedding seemed shockingly simple at first glance. In fact, it was a marvel that equalled the bride’s dress. At front view, the dress seemed to be made of a very simple sheet of red silk, hemmed with gold and pearls. But seen from the side or at any slight move, the simple sheet seemed to undulate and shimmer with pearly sparkles that figured the Lannister Lion. It was simple enough to make sure the cold Shara Lannister would not overshadow the bright Margaery to-be Baratheon, but spectacular enough to remind everyone that her husband was the one true king of Westeros. _A master work, undoubtedly._

She did not crossed path with Tywin before the ceremony began at the Great Sept. She was standing next to him but he did not look at her, contrary to Oberyn Martell who stared at her with a barely veiled interest. She tried to hide her annoyance as Baelish intercepted the gaze they exchanged with… _Delectation?_ The infamous bird was on the lookout for any information to report to her husband. He wanted to watch her fall at last, but she would not grant him the pleasure. She took her husband’s arm when he reached out for her. The whole situation had a lingering sense of déjà vu, especially when he helped her into their carriage to return to the Red Keep. She could not help smiling and he frowned. _It is his grandson’s wedding, but it could as well be his execution given how enthusiast he is._

 

“You are very cheerful today, more than you were during the last wedding you attended,” he noted. _Oh, really?_ “What did you think of the ceremony?

\- It felt familiar. It feels like I was at her majesty’s place… What, a few weeks ago?

\- Then it would appropriate for you to remind prince Oberyn whom you belong to. He seems a bit too much interested in your… Charms.”

 

Another man would have tried to seduce her to hide his jealousy. Tywin Lannister only reminded her of his almightiness over her and her whole life. She did not lose her smile, though her face had actually frozen. He saw everything, heard everything, knew everything. It would take incredible discretion to be able to evacuate Sansa during the wedding – or pray for fate to create some diversion. She knew Brienne was invited due to Margaery’s urging and Sansa… Well, she had to be. She was a highly born lady, even if her family was now reduced to her, in a formal and _alive_  way.

She was supposed to be seating next to her, in the gardens fitted out for the celebrations. The sun was high in the sky and the heat was almost suffocating – at least she suffocated as she walked the gardens to the tables at Tywin Lannister’s arm. He was discussing with Olenna Tyrell, grandmother of the bride, who looked absolutely delighted with the turn of events. _As you do. Her family just joined the very few houses linked to the royal dynasty._ House Arryn had been part of it, back when Viserys the first married an Arryn girl. Her house had never ceased to maintain its position, as high as honour, until the very dark days she was now living through. She was the last true Arryn and she did not wear the name anymore. The thought was enough to darken her face and she did not realize immediately that Olenna Tyrell had left and had been replaced by none else than Oberyn Martell and his paramour, Ellaria Sand. _The Serpent’s whore,_ as some liked to call her in the Reach and at the court. A bastard parading in a royal wedding. The picture was so beautiful that she would have commented it if she had had the occasion. And the right to.

 

“Lord Tywin, Lady Shara. I do not think you met Ellaria,” he said, resting a hand on her waist. She smiled and bowed. “Here are the Hand of the king, Tywin Lannister, and his wife, Lady Shara Lannister.

\- I cannot pride myself on ever meeting a Sand before,” Shara smiled. “A pleasure to have you here.

\- We are everywhere in Dorne. I have ten thousand brothers and sisters, bastards are born of passion, are they not? We do not despise them in Dorne.

\- How tolerant of you.”

 

Tywin Lannister seemed to appreciate the conversation to a way lesser degree than Oberyn, but he nodded politely. _He really must need them to accept so much from them,_ she mused, observing Ellaria. She was not exactly a beautiful woman, but there was something… Charming about her. Near Oberyn she could have looked very unremarkable if not for her burning eyes and assured smile. Most women would have cowered under Tywin Lannister and his wife’s stares, but she seemed to care very little. _I think I like her._ They exchanged a heavy glance before the Hand continued.

 

“It is a shame your brother could not attend the wedding,” he noted. “Please give him our regards. With any luck, the gout will abate with time and he will be able to walk again.

\- They say it is the rich man’s disease.” The prince’s voice had turned venomous. Shara tensed immediately. “A wonder you do not suffer from it.

\- Noblemen in my part of the country do not enjoy the same lifestyle as our counterparts in Dorne.

\- Oh, I guess people everywhere have their differences.”

 

This time she shivered. She did not know what was to happen but she knew _something_ would happen. His eyes were shining with a hardly contained fury and Ellaria seemed uncomfortable for the first time. Both women let go of the man they accompanied’s arm in a simultaneous way, out of boredom but more exactly out of fear of what Oberyn would say. Tywin was staring at him with his emerald eyes, just as aware as they both were of the incoming insult.

 

“In some places the highborn frown upon those of low birth. In other places, the rape and murder of women and children is considered... Distasteful,” he slowly said. “What a fortunate thing for you that your granddaughter Myrcella has been sent to live in the latter sort of place.

\- My Lord and Ladies, you may join your seats. The feast is about to begin!”

 

_Thank the gods._ They had just _barely_ avoided a catastrophe. Tywin was literally fulminating next to her. Of course he was still stone-faced and, of course, he saluted the prince of Dorne with the politeness due to his position but she could feel how much he wanted to order the whole Kingsguard to arrest him. He took her arm too suddenly and he walked too fast. She was smart enough to know it was better to say nothing and to sit without a word, without even looking at him. As if nothing happened. _If no one saw it, it did not happen._

She watched the pompous ceremonial of the exchanged kisses between mother and new daughter, between father and new son and between every member of the now united family. Tywin had warned her; she was not expected to come. No one wanted to see a traitress near the young king and his queen, even to show how much she appreciated them. _Rightly so,_ she mused. _Maybe I would have tried to poison at least one of them._ She simply looked around to kill time. 

As planned, Sansa was not far away, ravishing in her purple dress. Her hair was held up by a silver hairnet trimmed with stone of a very dark purple. _Amethysts?_ She did not recognize them but she did not care that much about them anyway. There were so many people around that she could not help being intoxicated by the noises, the tumult, the laughs and… _Let us fill the glasses!_ She almost had a start when a maid came to fill her glass with wine. She found her composure and raised it with the rest of the audience. She moved her lips with them but said nothing. The heavy glance of her husband was enough for her to understand she had to behave. _Like an unruly child._

The first dishes arrived, but she did not manage to count them. They were numerous, delicate but she could hardly say how many she tasted exactly and _what_ she tasted. Her attention was wholly dedicated to Brienne of Tarth, seating at a lesser table, uncomfortable though she had been authorized to wear masculine clothes. She looked at Jaime Lannister regularly to find some support and to Sansa Stark, even if she never looked back. Nearby but seating at more prestigious table, the Red Viper shot her continuous looks, and his dark eyes seem to know exactly what she was planning to do.

At the first pause between the dishes, she stood up and walked to Lady Brienne. Some courtiers tried to exchange pleasantries with her. Despite her best will and the hypocrisy she showed, they hardly hid the fear she inspired. It was not her, it was her husband, and it was not just her husband but rather the two of them – everyone knew how dangerous an enemy Shara Lannister, née Arryn, was. She was supposed to be lost but her sudden social climbing had made her even more threatening. It was better not to catch her attention. _Not that hard anyway. I will forget them in a minute._

When she finally could reach the Maid of Tarth, she tried to pretend she was not there until there was no possibility to ignore her anymore. Then she stood up to bow before her, whispering some random pleasantry. She asked her to stand and smiled. The king kept the whole attention and it was better this way – she needed a few moments of peace away from the crowd’s interest and away from the Hand’s. He was talking with a few members of the small Council, her back turned to her. _Thank the gods, again._ She took her hands and tilted her head.

 

“Lady Brienne, I hope the festivities please you.

\- I am not used to them, my Lady,” she admitted, lowering her eyes. “I am honoured to be invited, of course.

\- How did you find the last dish?

\- Marvellous, my Lady.”

 

There was no life in her voice. No will to talk, no will to answer. She had to pretend they were bantering like friends, though, and joking about the singers that were competing for the golden lute the crown would offer to the best of them. Shara decided to force the hand of destiny and chuckled, a forced yet melodious laugh. Brienne seemed startled before the young woman embraced her, laughing still. She barely managed to circle her chest in her hands so she simply put a hand on her shoulder.

 

“I could not have said it any better, Lady Brienne,” she smiled, before whispering. “Smile before they understand what is going on.

\- What…

\- What do you think of the second singer? I found him quite… Soporific, really.” She stepped back and nodded before lowering her voice again. “You swore Lady Cately you would protect her daughter. Today you will be able to keep this promise. When I gesture you to do so, you will seek Lady Sansa and take the stairs at the right of the royal rostrum.

\- Lady Lannister…

\- Listen to me. A ship is awaiting you in the harbour, just say I am sending you. If you are spotted, run.” She smiled brightly and walked away. “I fear I have to leave you to return to my husband.”

 

The young woman, dumbfounded, stared at her for a while before she sat again. _What an idiot,_ she bitterly mused while seating next to her Lord husband. Her dullness and awkwardness could have wasted it all, but Tywin seemed to have noticed nothing. _Hopefully._ The meal resumed and the festivities continued. She cared very little for the artists, until the highlight of their show arrived on some sort of a stage set up before the high table.

The actors broke her thoughtfulness. They were dwarves, one riding a big, grey dog and the other a huge spotted sow. _It cannot be…_ She turned her head to Tywin who seemed, for the first time, to enjoy the rejoicing. She tasted bile at her lips when the spectacle started; a sham of a tourney. All around her, everyone was laughing or smiling. Everyone but Lord Tyrion Lannister, direct victim of this mascarade, and Lady Sansa Stark. The first was fuming and the other did not seem to realize what was going on under her eyes. It was all for the best, really, and she wished she could be this distant. Her jaw tense, a façade smile on her face, she watched the spectacle turning more and more grotesque until it finished on a beheaded dwarf, the sow serviced by the dog and two dwarves hitting their private parts. _It is not worthy of a king,_ she tensed when they all applauded the performance. _It is not worthy of a province brothel._

 

“A champion,” king Joffrey screamed, completely intoxicated. “We have a champion! Though he is not the real champion yet, a true champion defeats all the challengers. Surely there are others out there who still dare to challenge our little champion… _Uncle!_ Defend the kingdom’s honour on the sow!

\- I will ride the sow, sire,” Tywin granted him, stumbling to him. “Only if you ride the dog.

\- Me? I am no dwarf, why me?

\- Why, you are the only man in the hall that I am certain of defeating!”

 

_This man is brave. Or drunk._ A mix of both, surely, that immediately brought back the usual sullen Tywin. She actually much preferred it to the cruel amusement he showed during the horrid sham probably organized by none else than Cersei. If the rest of the spectacles had been carefully picked by the Tyrells, only she could propose such a monstrosity during a wedding, especially her son’s, especially after what happened at the Twins.

Things were not getting any better but it was foreseeable. Almost everyone had forgotten Tyrion’s remark when she saw the king reaching him. He held the huge cup decorated with the Seven Kingdom’s colours. She touched Tywin’s arm when she understood what he was going to do but it was already too late. The entirety of the cup had been emptied on his uncle. He barely reacted while Garlan Tyrell, brother of the bride, tried to justify the act. But Joffrey and Tywin were not stupid, no one was.

Then she saw queen Margaery appearing next to her husband to call him to sit next to her. In vain; now the king’s cup had to be filled. Of course Tyrion did it, helped by a maid. She did not need to look at her husband to know he was fuming. His blood ridiculing his blood – the king ridiculing his position and himself as a consequence. It was too much for a man like him. She refrained from wincing in shame herself.

When it was finally over and Tyrion accepted to bend the knee to give the king his cup, Tywin stood up and announced that the pie was arriving, clearly and imperiously, and that it required the king’s presence. It required his brand new sword, _Widow’s Wail._ A ludicrous name, whispered by some courtier during the gift delivery. She found her husband’s eyes and read all the disappointment and all the fury he felt toward the grandson he was winning this war for. It would not take much more for him to drag him by the cape. The picture was pleasing enough for her to smile. Fortunately for her, it was interpreted as rapture at the sight of the huge pie that indeed arrived.

Rapture shared by the whole audience, especially when Ilyn Payne’s blade fell on its golden crust and released crazed doves. She only half-heartedly applauded. This spectacle felt too much like it was aimed at her directly and she was not the only one to interpret it this way given how many people looked at her. Her coldness dissuaded most of them from staring any more, except _of course_ Oberyn Martell. But she was almost surprised to find no mockery, no amusement in his eyes. Only the sharp awareness regarding what was happening. _If things end badly, he will be the first to dance on the ashes._ She would gladly dance with him if it did not mean losing her head.

The king grabbed his cup and started to down it under the queen’s eyes, more worried than she pretended to be. She barely touched the pie and tried to understand what Joffrey was telling to his uncle. His speech was interrupted by coughing fits and soon enough he was barely able to talk at all. She exchanged a glance with Tywin who stood up to walk closer to the king. Out of sheer instinct, she stood up as well. _He is chocking,_ she realized when his face turned red.

 

“He is chocking!” Queen Margaery screamed like an echo of her own thoughts. “He is choking!

\- Help your king!

\- Turn him over! Shake him by the heels!

\- Water, give him some water!”

 

_He is dying._ The certainty struck her like a stab when she saw every knight around rushing to him. His nails were scratching his throat, leaving trails of blood. Everyone was standing, everyone was rushing to the king. Panic was everywhere: half of the guests were yelling useless advices, the other half was running away or trying to see what was going on.

But she felt calm, so terribly calm. Like the day of the Battle of the Blackwater, she felt like she saw things in slow motion when everything rushed around her, ran from one point to another for no reason and without realizing what was happening. She turned to Sansa Stark who was staring at the king, still as a column. Her eyes were empty and his look was unshaken. _It is time._ They were all monopolized by the king, including most of the Dornish party. She rushed to the girl and took her away from the crowd exactly where Loras Tyrell stood a second ago. She stared at Brienne and she came as well. She nodded to confirm an order she had not given and grabbed the future runaway’s arms before darting her cold Arryn eyes into her soft and gentle Tully eyes. She paled.

 

“You leave now with Lady Brienne,” she ordered her in a tone that called for no comment. “You return home. Now listen to me very carefully, I will not repeat myself. Your one true ally will have a northern coin. You know what it is?

\- Y-Yes…

\- Your one true ally will have one of them. Remember that. Now, leave!”

 

She almost screamed. The two women started to run down to the stairs as if the Stranger himself was following them. Once they had vanished from her field of vision, she turned and looked around her. Silence had returned now, screams had lowered and she could hear nothing but the hooting of some flutes, somewhere in the musician’s stand. No one saw her. Those who were running were heading to the Keep, not to the back where they would be stuck in the harbour. She kept still near the now empty high table, staring at the crowd in front of her.

But when she turned her head to the other tables, she sensed eyes on her. Two eyes, belonging to one man. Dark, feverish eyes. She immediately tensed. Oberyn Martell, alone at his table, was staring at her with a smile on his lips.


	11. Night Call

She only learned about what happened afterward. Like every women of the court, she was brought to her apartments by her usual guard. She heard the bells ringing, heavy, doleful, as they had rung for Robert Baratheon. All she came to know about it all was what her maid told her once she came to help her undress and join the nuptial bed. But this time, Tywin was not there.

Tywin Lannister had many other things to do: the queen blamed Tyrion for this disaster and he had been arrested for poisoning. Now he had to prepare the late king Joffrey’s burial and Tommen’s, his brother, coronation, as well as his own son's trial.  _Poor child,_ she could not help thinking when the maid told her the news. _He is too young, too soft._ The queen was inconsolable, or so she said. Even Ser Jaime did not manage to sooth her. She refrained from speaking about Sansa Stark. Maybe no one had noticed she had left yet. The chaos in the Red Keep was such that she still heard footsteps outside even though it was pitch black outside.

To make sure she would not try to rummage in her husband’s stuff, her guard stayed at her door until her husband arrived. He vehemently dismissed him and undressed by the light of the dying candles that still illuminated the room. She was not sleeping, of course. She could see him from where she was. What she could see almost had her doubting he was indeed the old and venerated Tywin Lannister. _At least old age looks good on him._ She looked away and stared at the canopy beneath the bed. When he joined her, she pretended she was sleeping. He did not say a word for a while, a very long while, before eventually breaking the silence.

 

“I suppose you know everything.

\- I have been told,” she said, her voice kept low. “What a tragedy.

\- A shame. The trial will take place as soon as possible.

\- You would kill your own son?

\- I would kill the king’s murderer. Have a good night, my Lady.”

 

He turned and that was all. _He does not know,_ she realized. _He does not know!_ She refrained from smiling and giggling. She had succeeded, he knew _absolutely nothing!_ She turned and gritted her teeth not to chuckle. She had succeeded. She now had to tell Stannis about her plan, to make sure he would not leave Dragonstone without the coin. She had to hope that the Boltons would understand and would not try to get rid of the Stark girl before Tywin had the chance to explain the ploy to them. _My ploy._

And yet, when she closed her eyes, the only thing she could see was the two dark, amused eyes of Oberyn Martell. His eyes when she was making sure no one had seen her. He had. He knew, but said nothing. Maybe she had just managed to convince him she was trustworthy, or interesting enough not to be killed. Maybe she had just revived his wariness. She did not know and this unknown in her otherwise perfect plan prevented her from sleeping for a while before she collapsed from exhaustion in the very last hours of the night.

No one woke up her, so she awakened pretty late. Her maid was there, seating by the dressing table, looking at her in case she would wake up. She almost had a start when she realized she was staring at her. _They are getting more and more frightening._ When she asked how late it was, she realized it was almost noon. She winced and got out of bed to get ready, nibbling what the maid had taken with her. She had to pay her respects to the body of the late king Joffrey the first and pretend to cry over his so-called gentleness. Maybe not the second part, but the first was a given. Maybe she would manage to understand what happened.

She did not believe Tyrion was behind this disaster. He could not be, not on his own at least. The Imp was smart enough and he was not suicidal. He would not have devised such a ruinous plan and would not have poured the wine knowing it was poisoned. _Unless he did not know, of course,_ she mused. The evidence was there; the testimonies were too numerous. She herself had been seen him filling up the king’s cup. The whole court had seen him. No one could say the contrary without perjuring himself. 

And so she paid her respect to the mortal remains of the young king in the middle of the other courtiers. She was wearing a mourning dress – a black, simple dress hemmed with lace of Myr and azure braids. She recognized it; it was the one she wore after her father’s death, modified to hide the grey falcons that were embroidered and to take away as much blue as possible… So that it that was barely recognizable. She did not make any comment about it, though.

She stayed in the sept for a while, observing the pale body of the noblest torturer of the kingdom. Cersei Lannister was not there but she would soon come back. She had stayed by her son’s side the whole night and only left when the silent sisters came to take care of him. She exchanged pleasantries with members of the Tyrell party until Lady Olenna herself came and bowed her old neck before her. She did the same. The Queen of Thorns was infamous in the Seven Kingdoms, and yet there was nothing legendary about her: she was nothing but an old woman with barely any tooth left, wizened like an old apple, more wrinkled than any other crone Shara ever saw before. Still she was one of the most dangerous woman of Westeros.

 

“Lady Lannister,” she greeted her with her little, high-pitched voice. “What a disaster it is. Men nowadays die at their wedding table more than they do on battlefields. It is a wonder your husband did not have to suffer the same fate.

\- I thank the gods for that every day, my Lady. This war will never stop haunting us I fear.

\- You do know much about this war, indeed.”

 

She did react but heard the innuendo. She lowered her eyes cautiously before looking at the crowd around them. Most of the courtiers entered and left in a matter of seconds, not that keen to spend time around the body of a king they despised. She crossed her arms on her chest and sighed softly. She had to be careful with the Tyrell grandmother; she was just as smart as Tywin but she was not useful to her at all. If she wanted to win queen Cersei over, she would soon denounce everything she could. Her hazel eyes never really left her. _Beware, old woman. I have powerful allies too._

 

“The king is dead,” she continued. “Long live king Tommen.

\- An inexperienced king, unfit to rule for now.” Shara shook her head. “I am afraid we shall live through rough time again.

\- Your husband surely will pacify tensions. Through words or blood at leisure.

\- I trust him with this,” she politely granted her before facing her again. “How is Lady Margaery?”

 

The emphasis she put on the _Lady_ made Olenna blink. She smiled bitterly. _You are not the only one to have thorn, crone._ She innocently tilted her head. Everyone knew Margaery Tyrell and Shara Lannister were the best of friends and spent most of their afternoons together, gossiping and eating summer fruits in the Keep’s gardens.

But everyone also knew that Shara Lannister liked very few people, or at least that she could not genuinely like anyone here given that she was would have rendered King’s Landing to the usurper Stannis Baratheon if she had gotten her ways. Olenna Tyrell could not ignore this part of the story, unless she was blind and she definitely was not. She finally nodded, her small eyes shining in the middle of her many wrinkles.

 

“She mourns her beloved husband.

\- Beloved,” she repeated, thoughtful. “Yes, beloved by all those who knew him well. Will we celebrate another wedding any soon, my Lady?

\- Another wedding?

\- Will king Tommen be left without wife?”

The Hand’s wife’s eyes started to shine in a very dangerous, almost violent way while the Queen of Thorn’s turn suspicious, a tad worried. _I am not stupid,_ she wanted to scream. As she usually wanted to scream to the whole world and the gods alike, but she did not. She did not need to. The old woman found her composure and shrugged as if she had no idea.

She refrained from smiling. She could hardly believe _she had no idea._ Much like she could hardly believe the comedy the whole Tyrell party was throwing since the groom’s death had been announced. Much like she could not believe that the bride’s grandmother had not studied her betrothed and realized he was stark raving mad. It all worked too well for them. She could not help thinking that this death was linked to them, somehow. Who better than the Queen of Thorns could devise a regicide?

 

“I cannot pride myself on knowing what your… Daughter in law will decide.” She chuckled. “Families are remarkably deformed by weddings lately.

\- Indeed, but my wedding was not the strangest. The uncle, the nephew… A wonder your granddaughter survived two illustrious husbands,” she noted. “I will pray the gods for this luck to never run out.

\- We shall be grateful for your prayers, my Lady.”

 

The conversation was taking a more critical turn. It may have turned to jousting if Cersei Lannister had no entered the sept. The two woman curtsied before the queen. She did not notice them before the small Tyrell reached her, holding unto her cane to walk. Shara kept still for a while, observing the scene before going back to her apartments. Her guard followed her and closed the door behind her, reminding her he was to make sure she would not contravene the Lord Hand’s orders. She reminded him that she was used to it and was planning on reading.

And she did read. She wished she could see prince Oberyn, but meeting him would attract too much attention from the most attentive… Or the gossiping courtiers. She did not wish to suffer the wrath of a jealous Tywin Lannister, so she simply read her history book looking for some occurrence of a regicide tendency among house Tyrell. There was not much to say about the Tyrells, though, except the latent war with Dorne. The house was young, very young, and they used to be mere stewards of house Gardener, a much more ancient house. And much more extinct now.

She gave up and called her guard. She wanted to go on her balcony, and she had no right to do it without surveillance. He complied and leaned on the door to watch her rest on the stone railing of the balcony. The harbour underneath was filled with merchant ships – they had brought the victuals for the wedding reception. They would soon return to Essos, Dorne and the Reach, like most of the wedding’s guests. The ship she was interested in had left long ago to White Harbor, at least she hoped it would reach it. If it had been stopped, she would know. _Before losing my head, of course._ No one knew about what happened the day before for now, at least as far as Sansa Stark and Brienne of Tarth were concerned.

She spent a while watching the harbour before she realized the sun was setting. _Winter is coming, as the Starks say._ She dismissed her guard and went to the royal dining room when she had been summoned with her husband and his family. Much like every time such a dinner was organized, silence answered silence – this time, it was all so heavy that she almost pretended she felt nauseous to be able to leave. She was hungry, though, and she stayed solely for physiological reasons. 

She would have jumped to Tywin’s neck to thank him when he announced he was done and asked her to follow him. She left the awful atmosphere of the room for the silent of their room. She was used to this silence, though, and one of them usually broke it at some point. It took very long minutes once her maid was gone and once she had slipped into a light pink gown for him to say something.

 

“I will not sleep here tonight,” he announced, gathering a pile of parchments. “The small Council must prepare the regicide’s trial and it must be done as fast as possible.

\- The regicide? Which one? There seem to be a growing number of them among your family these days.

\- I am not in the mood to listen to your sarcasms, my Lady.” He raised his cold eyes to stare at her. “Your guard will keep an eye on you tonight.

\- To protect me from potential intruders, or to protect your parchments from potentials glances?”

 

He rose from his seat and, without the slightest comment, grabbed his leather coat. Leaning on the screen that separated the room from his working space, she watched him. It was hard to say whether he was as annoyed as his face implied, or if he was simply focused. _Maybe he simply wants to be done with it,_ she mused. His own son was accused of murder, his daughter screamed for his head while his other son tried to temporise. Have kids, they said; she was quite pleased she had none for now. Pleased not to be his true wife and have to deal with this remarkably dysfunctional family.

 

“For your information,” she risked herself, fingering the pearls of her gown. “I do not think Tyrion is responsible for that. At least not on his own.

\- I do not have the time to listen to your bemusing theories.

\- Until today, you found them quite interesting.” She raised an eyebrow, looking at him. “I am just trying to help you proving your son’s innocence.

\- If Tyrion is guilty, then he will be judged as such. I am not trying to prove his innocence.

\- No, indeed, you are trying to execute him.”

 

He turned to her and she understood _he was_ as annoyed as he looked. She regretted her moment of arrogance and crossed her arms. A poor defensive move – he has a sword at his waist. Not that she thought he would kill her for that, at least not like this, he was too prone to judge any wrong move as a stain on his house’s honour. _Perhaps he needs to know one or two things about certain members of his house._ She could not help thinking about Cersei and Jaime, back together now. For better and for worse, they said. As far as they were concerned, she saw the worse part better than the better one.

 

“Given your situation,” he said in a venomous voice. “I cannot recommend strongly enough for you not to support a murderer.

\- I do not support anyone, Lord Hand. I simply expressed my doubts regarding Tyrion Lannister.

\- I did not ask for your opinion on this matter.” He checked the content of the parchments he was holding and knocked two times on the door. “Do no take the time I allow you for granted.”

 

She gritted her teeth and slowly bowed while he left the room without a look. This kind of moment reminded her that she was nothing but a prisoner whose advice only mattered when it was warranted and when it aligned with Lord Lannister’s. She did not wait for the guard to be entered to go back to her dressing table. Without even pretending to notice him, she braided her hair. Her eyes did not leave her own reflection in the mirror.

It seemed that her face was slimmer, not to say thinner. She ate very little, but she never cared about food or drink anyway. Her father never taught her how to care about this kind of things, and she never found necessary to learn by herself. He had a very healthy lifestyle, though he started to drink to bit too much before his death… But who could blame an old friend of king Robert to drink with him? She sighed, tying her hair. Her face was not the only thing that changed; her cheeks had lost their colour and her eyes looked paler than ever. But maybe it was because of the candles’ light.

Making the most of Tywin’s absence, she did not go to sleep immediately and enjoyed the candles a bit longer to resume her reading of a book that did not belong to her directly – Tywin had put it in a pile a books that did belong to her and she had not said anything. It was a biography of a king of the Rock, before Aegon and his sisters’ conquest, Lancel the first. She was quite knowledgeable about the most important houses of Westeros but she was less interested in the western houses than she was in the northern houses or the Crownlands’. There was nothing surprising in the majesty and the pride of the members of this centuries old house; their blood went back to the First Men and even if it was diluted in the Andals’, there were still traces of it left in some of them. The emerald green eyes of Tywin Lannister were an example.

She was almost finishing her chapter when she heard footsteps in the tower’s steps. She raised her eyes, surprised, and exchanged a surprised gaze with the guard. He surfaced from his half-sleep and stood up, ready to open the door for his Lord. But there was nothing, only silence. _My day is devoted to silence,_ she mused, closing her book. She was standing when her soldier motioned her to stay still. By the wavering light of the candles, she saw the door’s handle moving. 

The scene was both very slow and too fast; very slow because it took the door ages to open, but once it was done, everything happened very quickly. The guard was snatched by two dark arms in the corridor as she was rushing to the end of the room, half hidden behind an imposing closet. Her heart beating hard at her temples, she closed her eyes for a second to try to sooth herself. She had no weapon – she did not even have a dagger or a paperknife. She was not even sure Tywin had one in his desk, to ensure she would not have the incredible idea to fetch it to cut his throat in the middle of the night.

When she heard the intruder entering the room, she pressed herself against the wall, ruining her dress against the naked stones that covered it. From where she stood, she could not put a name on the man that paced the room back and forth, probably searching for her. When he turned her head in her direction, she felt like collapsing. Her heart was almost painful. She was barely hidden, a quick glance would be enough to notice her. And then… _And then what?_ She hardly knew who would want her dead, except Littlefinger but he was not in the capital anymore. _A perfect occasion to devise an assassination._

The silhouette stopped nearby but at a reasonable distance, as if it feared her reaction. She did not move, hoping he did not see her. Maybe someone would hear her and come to her rescue if she screamed? _Do not be stupid. No one wants you alive except Tywin Lannister when he is in a good mood._

 

“Do not be so scared, my Lady,” the intruder let out in a mocking voice. “Do you really believe the whole world wants you dead?

\- Who…

\- Have you forgotten the sound of my voice already?”

 

Of course she had not forgotten. When she slipped out of her corner to face the man she was talking to, she did not hide her surprise to find in front of her, in the Hand of the king’s room when he was exceptionally busy, prince Oberyn Martell and his arrogant smile.


	12. First Victory

“But what… What are you doing here? What have you done to the guard?

\- He is snoozing,” he said, shrugging. “He will wake up in a hour or two, worry not.

\- I could care less about the man, but if he reports to Tywin…

\- He will remember nothing except falling asleep. Believe when I say that he will not brag about it.”

 

She kept still, dumbfounded before the prince of Dorne. When she finally found her composure and when she realized how vulnerable she was, barely dressed in a virginal white nightgown, she frowned and grabbed the first robe she could she find. It was heavy, all in red velvet embroidered with gold and it was too large for her – it belonged to Tywin Lannister. She tightened it around her chest and stared at the intruder.

He was wearing a rather simple outfit, very dark, the kind men wore for nocturnal hunts or when they wanted to be discreet. She noticed a naked blade in his right hand, shining when it caught the candles’ light. _If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it,_ she mused to comfort herself. She crossed her arms, fists clenched.

 

“You did not answer me.

\- I needed to talk to you. Privately.

\- And you could not wait until tomorrow and ask Tywin?

\- You really think I would have risked my life if I could simply _ask_ your beloved husband?” His voice was mocking and his tone was stinging. “Where can we go to be… Safer than in the Hand of the king’s apartments?

\- What makes you think I will follow you?

\- We both know that you will, Lady Shara. Drop the act.”

 

She gritted her teeth. Of course she knew and of course he knew. She resisted a bit, for form, before she walked past him to return to the corridor. A heavy silence loomed over the landing, a silence barely tainted by the door’s hissing when she opened it. She motioned her to follow and entered. The arch that led to the balcony allowed more light to enter the room than the Hand’s small windows, but it was barely enough for her to distinguish Oberyn Martell’s figure. He looked around, as if he was trying to immerse himself in the essence of the room. _Let him have his fun._

She walked to the candle she used earlier, grab it carefully and protected its little flame until she found another one left untouched. She lighted it and it illuminated her face, stark and cold, and her eyes staring at the prince, still sauntering around the room. He walked closer when he saw the light. In the half-light, his face was made of shadows and lights and it all emphasized how angular his traits were. And his lopsided smile.

 

“I have to admit it was a master stroke,” he finally said. “A remarkable plan. A shame that I am not as gullible as the other courtiers and that your spectacle was much more interesting to me than a dying king.

\- Be careful, prince Oberyn. They are still searching for the culprits.

\- You would accuse me? That would be most reckless.” He tilted his head. “Let us cease this petty game, shall we? Neither you nor I need it anymore, and I can hardly imagine you would truly accuse your only possible way out of this cesspool of a city.

\- Then by all means, say what you will and be done with it.”

 

She was expecting everything: extortion, barely veiled threats, heavy innuendos, perhaps even an alliance. It was not a problem as such, she was used to complicated people.  _Takes one to know one._  The problem was that she had no idea what was the most likely. He could be as threatening as he could be accommodating, an enemy as much as an ally. She was not sure even he knew what he wanted to be, what he wanted _her_ to be and what he wanted to do with her secret.

She hated to feel so vulnerable, especially with a man like Oberyn Martell. He had his life in his hands, even more so than Tywin himself. More than Baelish when he denounced her, if he really did it. More than Stannis Baratheon when she decided to help him, and he allowed her to.

 

“Why did you help Sansa Stark?

\- I let her brother die,” she let out. It was useless to lie. “I owed her that much.

\- A pretty story, Lady Shara, and I am quite sure she would like this version of the plot. Perhaps it is a desirable side effect, but you were not trying to protect the little she-wolf from the greedy lions. Then why did you do it?

\- Her presence in the North represents a strategic advantage for Stannis.” She walked away from him and headed to the door. She had closed it, of course, but she knew that walls had ears, and most of them belonged to Varys. Oh, the Spider would hear about it. He always did. “If only she could be his ally.

\- How come Tywin Lannister had my sweet sister killed, and not you?”

 

His voice, lower and huskier, made her shiver. She kept her back turn on him for a second before she faced him again. He had not moved. He was still looking at her but he had lost his smile. The conversation was nowhere near the _charming_ sparring match of his apartments, and they were no longer courtiers toying with each other. They were talking about war. They were talking about the dead. They were talking about the past and the future, since they could no longer be untangled lately.

Though she would not admit it out loud, she understood the Dornish’s reluctance to trust her. Without her father, without the wise Jon Arryn’s intervention, Dorne would have waged war against the brand new king Robert at the minute when they heard about the sack of King’s Landing. Odds were that they would probably have managed to either dethrone him, or kill him - the fool would not have guarded himself against the Dornishmen, regardless of his Hand's advice. As for what would have happened after that... It was storytelling. But somehow, her father stopped it all. It took everything he knew of diplomacy, and prince Doran's entire wiseness to succeed, but he stopped it all. Prince Oberyn's warriness was hardly surprising in this context: she was the daughter of a sellout, the wife of a murderer and loyal to an usurper's brother.  _What is not to like in me?_ she bitterly mused.

 

“Tywin Lannister keeps me alive because I am useful to him,” she careful retorted. “How exactly, I do not know.

\- And the man gives you free reins to conspire and let the most precious prisoner of the kingdom run away? Allow me some doubts about your interpretation of your marriage, my Lady.

- Tywin Lannister is smart, indeed.” She slowly walked to him. “Very smart. But cleverness is dangerous, for it seeks its peers in everyone. Once it finds it, it only gets blunter and blunter as it loses itself in petty mind games to check how clever the peer really is. He considers me harmless for as long as he is certain I have no means of communication with the realm.

\- If he needs a proof that you are not harmless, there it is. How do you think you will notice Stannis Baratheon of your… Masterful power play?

\- I do not know.”

 

She shook her head, powerless. And she was powerless, really. But she started to understand what he was hinting at and there was no need to tiptoe around it anymore. He ran a hand on his dark beard and filled the space between them with a step. He was taller than her, always been, but she only realized now how tall he really was: he looked stockier, more massive than tall in his apartments. In the darkness around them, close to the point that she could smell his spicy and heady smell, he seemed immense. Dangerous. _Dangerously attractive,_ her mind whispered before she shrugged off the thought. His dark eyes shone above her. Small strands of her hair fluttered around with every one of his breath. If anyone caught them, the scene would look equivocate at best, obvious at worse. She gulped and tried not to blink. Not to back up before the menacing Red Viper.

 

“You do not know,” he repeated. There was delight in his voice again. “Shara Arryn does not know. I believe this day should go down as a milestone, do you agree?

\- So I am no longer Shara Lannister?

\- You are what you wish to be, my Lady, that much is obvious.” He smiled but it did not make him any less threatening. “Let us say that I reconsider and wish to offer you my help. What would you need?

\- Parchment, ink and a crow, as well as trusted allies.

\- I can probably help you with the first three things.

\- And as for the last?”

 

His smile widened and he chuckled. She could not help smiling. It was a tiny smile, but it said a lot and he missed none of it. _I won,_ she mused. She had won an ally, but had she won a trusted one? He did not seem to be willing to gamble on her just yet. For a while he said nothing, simply staring down at her from the full height of his power and strength. When he understood that she would not cower, he nodded and shrugged.

 

“I cannot promise anything, my Lady. As least not until you prove me that you are to be trusted,” he clarified. “How would this… Alliance benefit Dorne?

\- For the time being, Dorne would have my gratitude. In a not too distant future, Dorne shall have Tywin Lannister and the Mountain’s heads, if you do not kill them beforehand.

\- Words.” He laughed again. “You truly are your father’s daughter and yet you have the Maiden’s voice. You would sell me sun and sand.

\- I would rather sell you a war, my prince, and a potential vengeance. Would you buy it?

\- The gods’ design is a strange one indeed.”

 

She blinked, surprised. He seemed to find his remark clever, given how much he smiled. He reached for her face and put a finger on her chin to get her to raise it. It was already high, so he settled for observing her, as if she were some stone statue. _He already did that._ He forced her to look at him in his apartments and she spurned him. This time, she did not move. His fingers were warm, almost burning on her cold skin. Dark fingers on her pale skin. Charming fingers on her unshaken face. _A beautiful picture._ A living oxymoron. Maybe it is what he meant when he spoke of the gods’ design. Maybe not.

 

“Placing such a mind in such a body,” he continued. “Hiding cleverness beneath a veneer of beauty, hiding cynicism in the honey of a voice. Making them both invisible to those who cannot see through lies. The gods leaned over your cradle, my Lady, and made you their own.

\- And yet you are the living-proof of the gods’ goodness. They made you the third of your siblings and not the first.” She smiled, more visibly. She remembered what her father said about the Martell brothers. “They made your brother, the obliging and wise Doran, the prince of Dorne and you, the Red Viper, was made his lieutenant.

\- Gods have designs we can hardly fathom. Much like you.

\- Much like you, my prince."

 

He shook his head, amused, and let her go. He turned away to go to the candle and take off what looked like a small box and parchment from his pockets. She joined him and saw a small quill in it and a tiny inker. _Barely enough to write a letter,_ she thought. He put it all on the desk and crossed his arms. She kept still, staring at the quill. She could not rush. She had to be certain he would not betray her.

Perhaps it was foolish to render her life onto a Dornishman who wished nothing more than the death of those who killed his sister and her children, but she had learned the hard way that no one could be trusted at first-glance. Including the most obvious allies, and especially them; Renly Baratheon should have supporter his brother's claim, Ned Stark should have pretended to accept the Lannisters’ power. But ambition, overarching honour, sense of responsibilities, greed could turn the best of allies. She knew it; she was no stranger to turning against former allies. _He is not wrong. I did not free Sansa to make amends._ And it was probably the worst thing she did.

 

“Am I to understand that my promises are enough for you?

\- I am an adventurous man,” he said, shrugging. “And I cannot resist the most beautiful creatures of this world.

\- And I am supposed to settle for this poor compliment and accept to render you my life?

\- You know as well as I do that you have no choice on the matter. And if I wanted to have you dead, believe me when I say I had every opportunity to do it before."

 

She waited for a few more second before actually sitting at her desk. She seized the quill and wrote as fast as possible. She did not try to be emphatic or nice to read; Stannis was above these considerations and he owed her that much. _Your majesty,_ she wrote. _I do not have the time to report to you everything that happened these last few months and I cannot summarized it in so few lines. Our time is running short. You must head to the North with what remains of your fleet, and find the Lady Sansa Stark. She is guided by Lord Roose Bolton, a traitor on Tywin Lannister’s pay. If you give her the time, she shall soon lead her armies to Storm’s End and Dragonstone. You must meet her and reveal her the truth. Once done, you shall find a force to be reckoned with in the Northerners, and you shall be able to reconquer the Riverlands. My men will follow your lead._

She paused. She now had to explain it all to him. She felt Oberyn’s eyes on her back, on the words she was writing. She dipped her quill in the ink and continued. _This missive may sound abrupt to you, but the time for pleasantries has long gone. Roose Bolton was involved in the Red Wedding and is trying to convince a young and naïve Sansa Stark to bend the knee before the Lannisters. Once with her alone, you will show her the last gift my father gave you and you will ask her to remember what Shara Arryn told her before she ran away. Trust me._ She signed with a maiden name and rolled the parchment. She looked around, searching for a signet ring but found none.

 

“Do you wear a signet ring? Something I could use to seal the letter?

\- Here,” he told her, handing her his ring. It was softly warm and it turned even warmer when she pushed in against the wax she had ran on the parchment. She crossed out the Martell sun with the tip of the quill before it dried. “Why…

\- It is a code. When I wrote to him before I was thrown into a cell, it was under the Lannister lion seal. I crossed out the left leg to signify that it was indeed me.

\- Clever.

\- Cleverness was not the aim, it was simply survival. For them, and for me.”

 

She waited for the wax to dry and looked at the parchment. She had been abrupt, abruptly honest but it is exactly what Stannis liked in her. Amongst many other things; after all, she had made sure he would save most of his men and ships. _Here is to hoping that he heeds me._ And that his Red Woman would not contradict her.

She stood up and handed it to Oberyn. He grabbed it but she did not release it. Not just yet. _I am putting my life in a Viper’s hands,_ she realized. _Vipers do not have hands._ She gulped and let it go. She watched him hide it in the pleats of his coat. There was still a smile on his lips and he looked rather satisfied with the turn of events.

 

“Do not tell anyone,” she said, way less smiling. “Do not trust anyone with this unless it is strictly necessary.

\- Ellaria will be the only one to know. You will need her if you want other letters to be sent, and it will be easier to meet her than to meet me.

\- Very well.” She slowly nodded. “Make sure this letter leaves the capital as soon as possible.

\- Worry not, Lady Shara. I am no beginner in the fine art of whispers and plots.”

 

 _I have no doubt of that._ He did not have children in every corners of the known world for nothing. There was a pause, as if he expected something from her. _Thanks? Not before I am certain I will not lose my head over him._ She said nothing, resisting the urge to mock his expectation. More cautious than she was arrogant, she headed to the door and opened it to leave. He followed her, shaking his head.

Though she knew that she had just taken a leap into the unknown and played her ace, she could not help feeling relieved. There was something in Oberyn Martell, in this prince of Dorne that made her feel that he would not betray her, despite every familial, social or historical considerations that could have convinced him to do so. Maybe it was the gleam in his eyes. Or the weakness he showed for her beauty. _A weapon like any other, when correctly wielded._ Once she had reached the Hand’s room’s door, she stopped and faced him. He bended in a sham of a bow and kissed her hand. She did not stop him.

 

“Have a good night, my Lady.

\- And you too,” she said, sensing his fingers caressing hers. She took away her hand. “On that note, how did you know that Tywin…

\- He is trying to convince me to sit in his court. He is quite talkative when he wants to be convincing, do you agree?

\- I suppose he can be.

\- We shall see each other soon if he plans to use you again as a seduction tool.” He bowed again and stopped near the stairs. “Not that it bothers me at all. Quite the contrary, really."

 

She rolled her eyes and returned to the room. The guard was still snoozing by the door. She stepped over him, closed the door and hung Tywin’s gown where it used to be. She went to the bed and closed her eyes. She did not fall asleep immediately – it took her a while. The soldier woke up at some point, confused, and checked if she was still in her bed. She pretended she was sleeping and he settled for her presence to decide nothing serious happened. She smiled, and finally fell asleep.

She would not have woken up before long if she had not heard the door open and Tywin Lannister’s voice nearby. She winced and sat by the dressing table, drowsy still. Her braid was still in a rather good state and nothing betrayed her little getaway. She listened to the Hand asking the guard if anything happened and refrained from chuckling when he announced that he had nothing to report. _Of course. Nothing but a conspiracy._ He then left and silence returned. Tywin was standing in the middle of the room, looking at her. She did not know what he was looking at exactly and she was not even sure he was really looking at her, but he kept still for a while… Until _she_ turned to him.

 

“Lord Hand. I trust the small Council reunion was fruitful?

\- The trial will happen by the end of the week,” he replied.

\- I suppose this is the moment when you give me some orders.

\- Oberyn Martell still has not agreed to sit in it. Make sure he does. Use his… Paramour, if need be.” He uttered the word as if it were some insult. “I did not ask the Dornishmen to come for them to find a way to rebel against the crown  _again._

- I suppose not everyone has my late father’s talent to sooth their anger.”

 

She regretted her remark almost immediately. He said nothing, though, and it left her sceptical. She had just insulted and provoked him. He usually did not let her get away with it. She stood up and walked closer. The cool morning breeze reminded her she was wearing but a fine nightgown but it was too late to step back. She saw his eyes scrutinising her, stripping her as they shrouded her whole body. _Hard to believe you are the one unwilling to consummate our marriage._ She rejected the thought. She did not want to either anyway.

 

“We heard about the Lady Sansa Stark’s disappearance,” he eventually said in a distant voice. _Ha, so now he knows._ “As well as the Lady Brienne of Tarth’s.

\- Perhaps it was just an escape attempt that worked thanks to the chaos caused by his majesty’s demise.

\- This is what we concluded, indeed.” His pupils narrowed. He reached for her cheek and cupped it. The move should have felt tender; it was simply greedy. And cold. _Nothing like the Viper._ “I did not think you would succeed.

\- You underestimate me, Lord Lannister. It will ruin you.

\- We shall see about that. Summon you maid, you are expected for lunch.”

 

He lingered a bit more, brushing her cheekbone with his thumb, and left the room. She kept still, smiling to herself. _It is but your first victory, Shara._ Others would come until the very last. The greatest. The most beautiful.


	13. The Dornish way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I just checked the stats of this fic, we're almost at 1K! That's just great!   
> I'm sure we can go even higher, though - next step, 1K5? Anyway, enjoy this and don't hesitate to leave comments!

As Oberyn planned and as Tywin expressly ordered her, Shara spent a few afternoons with Ellaria Sand. Of course she spent seldom more than one or two hours with her, always followed by her guard, but she gradually managed to reach her cage’s bars… And no one batted an eyelid. The Hand was busy with the trial, the queen was obsessed by vengeance and the rest of the court spoke of Tyrion Lannister all day long, this awful regicide who dared to take the good king Joffrey’s life. _Such a good joke._ The only other thing they actually thought about was the Lady Margaery’s future. Would she be queen again? Would she be sent back to Highgarden?

In any case, Shara did enjoyed the relative freedom she was offered. Ellaria was a very agreeable woman. She was clever, cultivated, funny and rather spicy and, to be honest, she was worthy of his paramour… Especially when it came to whispers and schemes. Her guard never ever understood they were exchanging information way more important than the usual pleasantries women shared. She used to believe that the Serpent’s Whore was nothing but a barely improved courtesan, but she had to admit and accept that she was more than that; she even came to appreciate their conversations and tried to lengthen them as much as she could.

Although, if Oberyn Martell actually accepted to sit at the trial, it was not thanks to her, but rather due to Tywin’s threats. The king had been poisoned; who better than the prince of Dorne, so knowledgeable in this kind of affairs, could have given the poison to the Imp? Though she did not have the occasion to talk to him any further, she hardly believed that he would have risked his life and his party’s only to ridicule a Lannister.

When the trial day arrived, she found a dress hung on her closet’s door. It was made of such a dark red fabric that it looked almost brown. It was an adequate colour for a trial after all. She would stand near the judge’s tribune, but she did not know exactly where. The Hand would sit on the throne, the others judges would be standing behind him. The accused would be locked in some sort of a wooden, half-cell. The witnesses would talk. _Nothing too unusual,_ she mused while her maid braided her hair in a very simple way. She had gleaned these information thanks to the few courtiers who actually talked to her, Tywin himself but mainly Ellaria, so she was only half-surprised by the ludicrous ceremonial they had organized to dramatize what was nothing but a sham. The stands were full when she was taken to her place, near the judges and facing the accused’s dock. She crossed both prince Oberyn and Tywin’s eyes and greeted then with a nod. They settled for this common salute, but nothing could have been more different than the way they looked at her. The former had a thin smile on his lips and seemed only too happy to have her so close to him. The latter only seemed coldly satisfied that she wore what he wanted her to.

She had not stood for more than one or two minutes before silence fell on the throne room. The accused, looking even tinier than usual surrounded the overwhelming crowd, walked the alley to his dock. Ser Addam Marbrand escorted him and he wore his most beautiful clothes. _His humour never ceases to surprise me._ He did not look scared or angry. Just tired. She looked at the judges and saw that the three of them had quieted. She hid a mocking smile when she realized that the prince of Dorne and the Lord of Highgarden, traditional foes, were as separated as possible. _Tywin is playing with fire,_ she thought. _Oberyn is more dangerous than a jar of wildfire._ The Great Septon’s prayer done, Tywin started by asking Tyrion if he had killed king Joffrey. No one was surprised to hear him responding in the negative.

 

“Well, that is a relief,” the prince sighed dryly while crossing his legs almost lasciviously. He seemed to be bored already. “And there I thought it would take the entire day.

\- Did Sansa Stark do it, then?

\- The gods killed Joffrey,” Tyrion replied in a calm voice. “He choked on his pigeon pie.

\- You would blame the bakers?

\- Them, or the pigeons. Just leave me out of it.”

 

Lord Tyrell reddened and seemed to be ready to jump on the dwarf. There were a few nervous laughters. _He is digging his own grave._ It was not as if he had the slightest chance to get away with any of this anyway. Nothing, no one could save him – apparently there were worst situations than hers.

 

“There are witnesses against you,” Lord Tywin eventually interfered in his implacable voice. “We shall hear them first. Then you may present your own. You are to speak only with our leave.”

 

And so they heard the witnesses, some of them more eager to defend or to accuse him. It was rather boring, except for the few snarky remarks prince Oberyn uttered every now and then. But given how he was gradually burying himself into his chair and given how low his head was hanging on his closed fist, it was clear that he was only trying not to fall asleep. They exchanged a few glances, most of the time just before he would punctuate a question or an answer with some biting or ironic comment.

Lies were piling up at a phenomenal rate. It was almost as if they were describing none else than Maegor the Cruel or Aerys the Mad King united in this small piece of a man. Soon it became too much for a man like him and he tried to stand, to throw himself on Ser Kettleblack. It was for the worst, since he was immediately stopped and rebuffed by his illustrious father. Father who was father only by name now.

 

“Must we have you chained hand and foot like a common brigand?

\- No,” he replied with a barely contained anger. “I beg your pardons, my Lords. His lies angered me.

\- His truths, you mean.” Cersei was standing close to the stand, her hand tensed on the armrest of her chair. “Father, I beg you to put him in fetters for your own protection.

\- The day I fear a dwarf’s wrath is the day I drown myself in a cask of red.”

 

 _I would love to see that._ Oberyn rolled his eyes and the trial resumed. It lasted for hours, the whole court repeated the same thing over and over again. She was not called but it was not surprising: with the scene she had thrown the last time she had been asked to speak, it was better to keep her quiet. At least she would have made things more interesting. No one dared talk and she heard nothing but yawning around her. Knowing she was observed by Tywin, she refrained from following suit and stayed still, straight, staring at Tyrion who did not look at her once. He was slouching every minute a bit more, out of tiredness and disillusion more than out of despair. No one doubted the result of this trial, except those who may have believed he would walk free of this room.

In his incredible magnanimity, Tywin Lannister allowed a pause of a dozen of minutes, just enough for the court and the judges to breath some air. If half of the audience indeed left the room, the accused included, she did not move, firstly because her guard did not ask her to move and secondly because she could try to gather a few more information about the rest of the trial if she remained inside. She could not do it for long, though, since her infamous husband climbed down the stand’s stairs to join her. He dismissed her soldier with a sway of the hand and looked around. He had drawn features but it was not from exhaustion. He looked annoyed. _Well, apparently it is possible to vomit gold_ and _produce regicides at the same time._ Even if she was still certain Tyrion did not kill Joffrey. Or not willingly, at least.

 

“I suppose you are rapt over by this trial,” he said without looking at her. “We are drowning under gossips and rumours. You are in your element.

\- I only like rumours when they veil a substantial amount of truth, my Lord. And I would not base a judgement on the court’s gossips.

\- It is fortunate that you are not a judge then.

\- It could have been interesting, though."

 

He turned his head to her. His eyes gauged her with both contempt and amusement. A strange mix, but it caracterized him pretty well. She replied with a lopsided smile. She was meaning to ask him how he managed to convince the Dornish prince to join the judges when a squire rushed to him. Losing all his humour in a second, he frowned and took the letter he was holding. The kid ran away while the Hand unsealed the parchment.

Some would not have noticed the change in his expression and would have confirmed that Tywin Lannister was the most unshaken man of the world. But she knew him better now; they had discussed things and others for hours, she knew exactly how he worked. And it took her a glance to notice everything that changed in him: his lips were pinched together, his pupils were narrow and she noticed his eyelid twitching. _Whatever the news are, they are not good. At all._ He folded the paper with calm and slipped it inside his pocket. He raised his eyes on her and continued with the same calm.

 

“This trial will not last long, my Lady,” he declared. “There is one witness left for the crown. Then we shall let the accused present his own.

\- I thought he had to wait for all your witnesses to have testified.

\- It is useless to make this mascarade last.

\- Funny,” she noted. “You call that a mascarade yourself. You fool them all, then, Lord Lannister.

\- His guilt is beyond any doubt. Unless you have evidence to present, Lady wife?

\- In no wise.”

 

He nodded and called the guard back. He walked away and returned to the throne, exchanging a few words with Oberyn and Mace before seating and summoning everyone back. It took another five minutes for calm to return and the trial to resume. The Imp was told he could now present his witnesses. Given how graciously the Hand of the king had offered him to do so, she did not doubt his answer.

And yet it surprised her. It surprised everyone, really. The respectful silence that floated in the room suddenly turned shocked. Terrified, almost. It felt like time had slowed down around her and that she was the only one able to move. _I have not heard that correctly._ She felt every eye on her, including the burning eyes of Oberyn Martell and Tywin Lannister. Shivering, Lord Tyrell spoke again.

 

“Can you repeat what you said?

\- I demand that Shara Lannister comes to testify,” he said without even looking at her. “She is the only noblewoman who did not talk yet.

\- Leave has to be granted by her husband and…

\- Get the witness.”

 

The cold order came from a frozen Tywin. She felt her guard’s hand on her arm and followed him to the witness’ stand. She felt her blood freezing in her veins, her blood throbbing at her temples. _What is he doing?_ It made no sense: she was not close to him, she saw nothing more than the others during the wedding. She never talked with him more than strictly necessary. She never even appreciated his company. What was he trying to do?

She found his eyes. They were pride, defiant. _It is not me he is trying to harm._ It was his father, by obliging his own wife to voice her doubts about this affair. He would back her into a corner, have her express her uncertainties. _He will risk my life._ She felt a flame of anger in her throat as she swore to speak only the truth before the gods.

 

“Lady Lannister,” he said in a clear and strong voice. “You attended the wedding, did you? And all the events the witnesses described?

\- I did. Except for the events that occurred just after the Battle of the Blackwater.

\- Did they speak the truth? The witnesses, I mean.

\- There was truth in what they said, yes.

\- Then there was untruth as well?”

 

 _You…_ She did not reply immediately and found Tywin’s eyes. They were neutral. So terribly neutral that they full were of unsaid threats. She was his son’s last hope – the last wall to collapse before his sentence. He knew her doubts. He knew how much she wanted him to fall. _It is a golden opportunity…_ To die, indeed.

She could not lie, not before the gods, not before the throne. But she could not die. She _simply could not_ and this is exactly what would happen if she crossed the Hand of the king. All that for what? For Tyrion Lannister? Innocent, indeed. But an innocent dwarf, hated by the whole world - and condemned already. She took a deep breath.

 

“Rhetorical licenses have been taken. But the basic facts are true.

- Rhetorical licenses.” His eyes where shining. He was not satisfied with her answers. _Second round._ “They say the Arryns are the most upright among the upright, I suppose it works for the women as well?

\- I do hope so, my Lord.

\- Can you please list the tangible evidence that incriminate me?”

 

She gulped. There were so few of them. The wine poured in the cup, at most. The way Joffrey pointed at him when he died. But was it tangible? No one could possibly know if he put poison in the wine. She herself did not believe he did, how could she pretend otherwise? Darted straight at her, Oberyn’s eyes shone furiously. He was having fun at last. At last there was some life to this trial. There was something else as well: there was something in the way he switched from her to Tyrion… _Did they talk?_ She forced herself to remain calm. He could not have betrayed her. It was another provocation, the last before the Imp’s death. Of course it was.

 

“You poured the wine that killed his majesty king Joffrey in his cup,” she replied in a cold voice. “The entire court saw you.

\- Did you see me poison the wine?

\- There is no need for grand moves to poison wine, my Lord.

\- You seem to know much about poison, my Lady,” Oberyn interfered. “And I am a specialist myself.

\- Of course not, prince Oberyn. The only thing I know is that a single move was enough and that I did not take the time to decipher Lord Tyrion’s every move.” _Traitor._ “His contempt for king Joffrey was proverbial. He had every reason to commit such a crime.”

 

The bitter taste of lie filled her mouth, her throat to the point that it burned her insides. She had to get out of this situation as soon as she could if she wanted to survive it, but it was practically impossible. Tyrion would not give up. Tywin would not help her, the occasion was simply too perfect to test her and to get rid of her with his son. Oberyn had plotted to have her stand as a witness and he seemed only too happy to see her so unsettled. _Do not grant him any more._ She kept her head high, her chin raised, her back straight. She would not fall, would not bend. Not because of this dwarf. Not for him. _Not for anyone._

 

“So this is all the evidence you have against me, my Lady?

\- The amount of testimonies made by the noblewomen and noblemen of this court is damning evidence.

\- You said yourself that they took… How did you say that? Rhetorical licenses?” he hounded her. “You did not testify much yourself.

\- I will testify if you let me, my Lord. And here is what I have to say: you poisoned king Joffrey.

\- You maintain this even though you confirmed you did not see me pour the poison. Is that what you do of house Arryn’s honour?”

 

 _Father, forgive me again._ She felt a lump in her throat and it blocked any sound for a while. She shrugged away the dull pain of her heart that ordered her to speak the truth, to accuse the Tyrells and Littlefinger, to discard the golden cage she was locked in even if it meant dying. To be Shara Arryn one last time, the upright, the proud and honest heir of the purest house of the realm. She shrugged it so much that she slowly shook her head and stared right at the dwarf’s eyes.

 

“You are guilty. It is my only testimony.

\- Your father…

\- And I do not belong to house Arryn anymore,” she continued as silence grew heavier. _This is his technic._ “And my father died a year ago.

\- Guards,” Tywin Lannister intervened. “Take the Lady Shara back to her place.

\- By all means, take this liar, this arriviste away from my eyes Lord Lannister, and I will give you your confession!”

 

Shara choked up on the insult long enough for her not to see that her husband had jumped on his feet before slowly seating. When she returned to her seat, she stared at his dwarf on a son and saw nothing but an undying anger. This sham itself harmed Lord Tywin Lannister’s pride, and his own son dared to stage his wife and insult her before his very eyes? _Let him die,_ she mused, clenching her fists. She had tried to support him, in other circumstances she would have spoken up for him, but the insult and the humiliation was such that she _could not_ forgive it. _No one_ had the right to humiliate her. _No one_ had the right to use her. Even an innocent. Even him.

Once the chaos was gone, Tyrion Lannister spoke again. She knew he would not plead guilty. He did not play this whole game for that. He simply wanted to provide with an unforgettable memory.

 

“Guilty,” he said. “So guilty. Is that what you wanted to hear, Lady Shara?

\- You admit you poisoned the king?

\- Nothing of the sort.” He shook his head and walked to the edge of his dock, to his still tense father. “Of Joffrey’s death I am innocent. I am guilty of a more monstrous crime. I was born. I lived. I am guilty of being a dwarf, I confess it.

\- This is folly, Tyrion,” Lord Tywin retorted. She could have sworn she heard his voice twitch. “Speak of the matter at hand. You are not on trial for being a dwarf. Have you nothing to say in your defence?

\- That is where you err, my Lord. I have been on trial for being a dwarf my entire life. I will say nothing but this: I did not do it, yet now I wish I had.”

 

When he turned to the crowd, to her, he found a sea of pale faces. She paled, herself. He was playing a game whose rules she did not know anything about; she hardly understood his point. What he said, what he did, made no sense. He was burying himself alive, destroying every hope of amends or mercy he had left. He insulted his father, his mother-in-law, his blood would not help him. She was the greatest traitress of the kingdom and yet she gave up on him and would have declared to have seen everything if she had had to. _To hell with the holy vows._

“I wish I had enough poison for you all. You make me sorry that I am not the monster you would have me be, yet there it is. I am innocent, but I will get no justice here.” He turned to her. “Here we marry a known traitress to a man more powerful than the king he pledged to serve, and we kill innocents. You leave me no choice but to appeal to the gods. I demand trial by battle.

\- Have you taken leave of your wits?!

\- No, I have just found them. I demand trial by battle.

\- You have no champion,” Lord Tyrell almost screamed, verging on apoplexy. “You cannot…

\- He has one.”

 

Prince Oberyn Martell had risen, proud and tall, beautiful and solar in his golden robe. _It cannot be…_ He looked around the audience, Cersei included, before looking at her. _So that was the plan? Reach such an extreme end?_ He smiled as chaos ran through the throne room like wildfire. They ordered to put an end to the trial; the combat would take place two days later, just enough time to prepare the arena and the two champions. When they announced the other one, everything became clear.

 _Ser Gregor Clegane, champion of his majesty._ It had nothing to do with Tyrion, and it had nothing to do with Joffrey. Oberyn was getting his vengeance. He got it when he wanted and he got it in the best of ways: against Tywin Lannister. She shook her head, even so slightly. He smiled even more. _He does not understand. He does not realize._ These three words had just plunged the kingdom into the second act of this war, even before Stannis Baratheon’s ships reached the capital: Dorne had just made its entrance.


	14. Pride and Prejudice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, we got the 1K! Thank you guys, this is just awesome! I do believe we go even higher, though ;D
> 
> Thanks a lot to those of you who recently left comments - I'm so glad you like this fic, really!
> 
> On a gloomier note, and just so no one comes across something they wouldn't want to see, I didn't tag the 'non-con elements' for nothing. It comes to be justified right now, so... Be warned.

Confusion floated above the throne room for a while, as everyone returned to their apartments or to the gardens to enjoy the night’s coolness. Confusion was such that her guard had to leave her watch and help his colleague evacuating the spectators, leaving her alone on her stand, seating in the middle of an empty bench. Aware that she could not afford to bring any more attention to herself, she kept still, her mind trying to process what just happened. Things had taken a more dramatic turn than she ever imagined – how could anyone be so farseeing as to imagine Oberyn Martell mad enough to defy Tywin Lannister so directly? 

 

“How lonely you are, my Lady,” he sighed once close enough to her. “Where is your husband?

\- I know not, my prince.

\- What a shame. I would not dare to lose your sight if you were my wife.

\- Lord Lannister probably has better things to do.” Her voice, ice cold, called for not jest. “I do hope you know what you are doing, Oberyn.”

 

He smiled and tilted his head, encouraging her to do the same. Her face stayed unshaken, her lips, tight. How could he be so sure of himself? He was risking his life, as well as his whole party’s! Even if he won, it would be too much of a humiliation for the Hand of the king. Tywin Lannister would never let him leave the city without retaliation and he would never accept his son’s victory. _How could he be so reckless?_

Deep inside, though, in a corner of her mind, she remembered it was Oberyn Martell she was facing, not herself. He was half-crazed, as were every Dornish men, and he was hot-headed. He had patiently waited for more than fifteen years to have his vengeance and what better way could he find than killing Elia's rapist and murderer before the whole court and the Lannisters themselves? She should have known it would happen. Maybe not like this, but she should have known he would do something rash.

 

“Am I hearing that right? Would you be worried for me, Lady Shara?

\- I am worried for the realm,” she corrected. “If you happened to die, fire and blood would again drench our lands.

\- But I will not. Do you forget that I…

\- Prince Oberyn.” Tywin had appeared behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “My wife and I shall return to our apartments.

\- Of course. My Lord, my Lady.”

 

The Dornishman’s eyes did not lose their shine when they met the cold stare of the Hand. He bowed and left the throne room while she followed her husband to the Tower of the Hand. Her eyes low, she climbed the stairs to the landing of their rooms. A maid waited for her outside her apartments. She blinked and Tywin vanished before she got the time to ask him what was going on. She entered her room. _It is late,_ she mused. _Why does he want me to go to my room?_

 

“The Lord Hand wants you to put on your night clothes in your apartments tonight,” the maid told her while helping her undress. “He wishes you to join him once you are prepared.

\- Why here?

\- The Lord did not say.”

 

 _Obviously._ She frowned but let her do her job. Once dressed in a mere nightdress and a gown of pink silk, the maid disappeared and asked her to join her husband. She obeyed under the barely hidden stare of the soldier who guarded his door. She walked through the empty antechamber and entered the room.

She froze when she saw Tywin. He was wearing the robe she had _borrowed_ when Oberyn Martell came to her in the middle of the night and a very simple black shirt. That was all. She had never seen him so denuded, at least not this openly. Usually he changed at the very last minute before sleeping and she usually already slept by then. She had a foreboding of it all and tightened her gown around her chest before actually entering the room.

 

“My Lord,” she said in a cautious voice. “Why the formality tonight?

\- Come now, my Lady.” He was not even looking at her. He was reading again the letter he had received. “Do not try to have me believe you have no idea what it is all about.”

 

She took a deep breath. She could feel cold trails of sweat rushing down her spine. _What is in the letter?_ Was she betrayed? Did he know about her schemes? She tried to remain unshaken and continue to walk. Much to her surprise, he handed her the letter. His eyes did not leave her until she lowered her eyes on the words hastily written. She recognized the Bolton seal before even starting to read. _Lady Sansa Stark has arrived safe and sound._ Alright, a good thing. Nothing that would justify such powers play. _Stannis Baratheon is heading to the North. He will be by our coasts in a few days at most._

She froze. So Stannis trusted her and attacked the North already? The idea stunned her enough for Tywin to believe her surprise was genuine. He was right, though, but no one knew how involved she was. _Then what? Why so… Oh._

She raised her eyes from the parchment and met her husband’s. _Here it is. The reason of this marriage._ Tywin Lannister knew since the very beginning that Stannis Baratheon would attack the North, with or without Sansa Stark, with or without Shara. He knew as well as her or anyone knowledgeable about geography that the fastest way to reach the North by lands was through the Bay of Crabs, then sail back up the Green Fork to the Tridents, held by the Freys now allied to the crown. Most of the harbours of the Bay were part of the Vale. _He needs me to order my men to open the harbour to let his ships pass._ He could not do it without her, not without risking losing his men and ships in the stormy waters of the Trident or to the tenacity of the Valemen.

But so long as he was not completely sure the event would happen, he had no reason to make any definitive alliance with a traitress. No reason to _consummate_ their marriage since he had _nothing_ to have her do. She gulped again and put the letter back on the desk. The cold trails of sweat on her back had turned to shivers. She thought this day would never come, that she would have the time to run away before it was necessary. But things sped up.

 

“You will order me to open the Vale’s harbours,” she said in a strangled voice. “To let the supply ships reach the North. You married me for this very reason.

\- It took you much time, but congratulations Lady Shara. You see right through me.

\- Nothing compels me to obey.” She raised her chin. She had to take the stab, hoping she was wrong. “You said it yourself, this marriage is not a real one.

\- From this evening forward it will be.”

_How cold can he be?_ She closed her eyes for a second. Why did it feel harder to consummate their marriage than it felt back then? _Now I know what he is capable of._ He would not harm her, not physically anyway. But the trap she imagined to be far from her had just closed its jaw on her. The maidenhood she could still plead, even falsely, would not last. The guard behind the door, the maid were witnesses if she tried to contest their marriage’s validity. And though he hated them, Tywin knew how to take advantage of rumours.

 

“What if I happened to get pregnant? What would you do?

\- A new heir of Casterly Rock would come into being,” he simply said. “And both the Vale and the Westerlands would be ruled by a Lannister.

\- How delightful this idea must sound to you.

\- Do not be so bitter. The name you wear must please you too, given how much you use it.

\- Do no imagine I did it for you.”

 

She did not want to play anymore. She did not wanr to throw witticisms anymore. Suddenly her future looked darker than it did a few hours before; Oberyn Martell would die, in some way or other, and it would reduce to ashes any hope of victory for Stannis Baratheon. She would soon be tied to house Lannister in a definitive way and the Vale would be under siege. _And now I have to…_ She repressed a shiver. It was not disgust. It was not fear. But she wanted none of that - at all.

 

“Of course it was not for me. If I had not kept an eye on you during the whole trial I could have thought you did it all for my son and Oberyn Martell.

\- I did not talk with any of them in days,” she retorted. “And I have nothing to win in prince Oberyn’s uprising.

\- Nothing except Dorne’s revolt. You thrive in chaos, Lady Shara. It may be one of the many reasons why the prince is so attracted by you.

\- Oh, so the next step is to sell me as a whore to Dorne to make it an ally?”

 

The small victorious smile on Tywin’s lips twitched and vanished. He frowned and tensed. _If it were not him, I would swear he is jealous._ She crossed her arms on her chest, exactly where her robe was tied. A useless defensive move, she would have to take it away at some point. But not yet. They were not done settling the scores.

 

“This game you are playing has gone on long enough. It is more than time for you to remember whom you belong to,” he said with severity. “And the prince of Dorne shall be reminded as well.

\- You really think he only accepted to sit as a judge thanks to my charms?

\- I do not think anything and it is for the best for you and your precious freedom.” _Possessiveness,_ she mentally corrected. “Undress.”

 

She kept still for an instant, braving his look, but he was right. This game has gone long enough. She had made the most of her parole; the time had come to get back into line. At least for now. _I will find a way,_ she promised herself as she untied the belt of her gown. It fell without a sound. His eyes had not left her. She suppressed another shiver and, without looking away from him, untied her shirt. It fell at her feet too.

She had stood naked in front of men before. She had been naked in men’s arms before. She knew she was desirable because she saw it in their eyes. But she felt powerless, weak, fragile in front of _him._ A child facing an adult, like these girls married to old men. He looked good still, even with the fine wrinkles that reminded of his age, but he was Tywin Lannister. And suddenly she was no one.

He motioned her to go to the bed. She did. The stone floor felt cold under her naked feet. The drafts that blew in the room felt icy on her naked skin. The sheets felt stiff. Her heart beat hard at her temples and she feared for a second that it would explode. _At least it would be over for good._ Unless it all just started. She wished she could be capable of some cynical and clever comment. After all, she was not any less safe than every time she dared talk to him. But nothing came, except an urge to run away. Everything seemed easier than that: fighting him, defying him, letting him humiliate her, plotting, everything, _absolutely everything_ was easier because she knew what would happen in every of these situations because he was Tywin Lannister. But the violence in his eyes reminded her that though Tywin Lannister was the coldest man of this world, still he remained a man. A man who perhaps desired her more than she thought.

 

“It has little to do with the war,” she let out, watching him. He stopped in front of the bed to take away his robe. “Are you afraid that prince Oberyn may steal your right to my first night?

\- We both now it is hardly your first night. Do not take it so personally.

\- These are all deductions. You asked me to undress, though it is not necessary.” He frowned. Old age had not made him frail at all, given the strength that emanated from him. “Your eyes had not left me since I did. You ordered nothing regarding the Vale. You did not even try to ask me anything before...  _This._ "

 

He did not reply. _So I am right._ It was nothing but the visceral reaction of a man whose pride had been wounded by the overtures of another man. She smirked. Maybe it was better to think of it this way. He was offended and he had found the perfect opportunity to remind her that she depended on him. It was less terrifying than to imagine he simply wanted her. _He is Tywin Lannister._ Not some other nobleman. Not Oberyn Martell.

He asked her to undress but did not return the politeness. He climbed on the bed with his shirt still on. The whole picture was ludicrous, laughable. He had lost his allure in a matter of second, without any actual clothes on. But his face was still as stark as ever. And yet she felt like he was not more comfortable with the situation than she was, though he hid it way better than her. _At least I will have the right to claim to have seen the Lion of Casterly Rock uncomfortable. And naked._

Even though it was not the first time she slept with a man, she could as well have been virgin still. The few relations she had back in the Vale or here had nothing to do with what Tywin did. There was not a single move, no touch, no kiss. Just him above her for a few seconds, then him inside her. She turned her head to the nearest wall when she felt him penetrating her and locked her eyes on the stones. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fist on the sheets.

It was not painful. It was not violent or hasty, and he did not try to harm her. But it was not nice at all. She did not want it and her whole body rejected him. Still it was not disgust; she was revolted, period. Even when he went deeper and harder, she remained impassive, tensing not to wince. She was not a whore. She would not fake it simply to please him. He did not deserve that much, he already had what he wanted. _Me._

She almost yelped when he seized her face in his hand and forced her to look at him. _What is he…_ His hand on his throat kept her head still and could have strangled her if he wanted to. She tried to remain unshaken but she could see nothing but his eyes – and they were burning. Burning of too many things and burning too much, it could not be his eyes. Or if it was, then he was not looking at her. There were too many conflicting emotions in there. None of them could be for her.

 

“Would you rather have Oberyn Martell or any other of these men who think you are so lonely?” His voice was warm, breathy. _My, my, someone is getting more fun than I do._ “Would you be more willing?

\- I am not supposed to be.

\- Then I could stop being willing. Lest you forget, your life depends on my good will.

\- You have enough gold to pay for the best whores of this realm,” she groaned. “I may be your prisoner but I will _never_ be your whore.”

 

His eyes froze instantly and she feared that his fingers around her neck might grip her throat. They did not, but they did not release her either. The gods took pity on her, though, and it was soon over. He withdrew immediately and sat on the edge of the bed, his back turned on her. She resisted the urge to curl up in a foetal position and turned her back on him as well. She took a deep breath and ordered herself to keep calm. It was over. _It is over._ At least for tonight. She felt her throat tighten, her eyes tingle but she clenched her fist on the sheet again. She would not cry. She was stronger than that. _Stronger than him._

 

“When I order you to do so, you will write a letter to Lord Royce. I will dictate it to you. Do not try to hide any hidden message or…

\- I will be sent to Casterly Rock,” she absentmindedly said. “I know. But you cannot kill me anymore without casting scorn on your very dear name.

\- Who mentioned killing you? The Rock is a dangerous place for those who do not know it well enough.

\- Have a good night, Lord husband.”

 

She drew the sheets on her body. He said nothing as she blew the candles and closed her eyes, but she could feel his stare’s weight on her back. It made her shiver and he fortunately did not notice it. He lay down as well but she did not fall asleep before long. She kept her eyes wide open, staring at the darkness in front of her. Her jaws were so tense that they were painful. She felt her nails carving semi-circular cuts on her palms. Her mind, for the first time in years, was completely empty.

It took her a long time to realize she was crying. Silently, without a move, without a sob. Tears just rushed down her face and gradually soaked her pillow wet. She cried as she cried her father months after his death. She cried but she did not know why exactly. Maybe for all that happened after she was freed. Maybe also a bit for what happened just before.

She curled up and closed her eyes. When she opened them again they were dry and her mind was clearer. She could not cry, not after everything she had done. She had sacrificed too much, caused too many death and too much damage to cry – she had no right to cry. She had to move on and she needed the Dornishman’s help. _I need to write a letter to Royce._ Even if Tywin just forbade her to do it. A letter to order him to block the harbours, to sink their ships and trap the royal fleet. She just needed a piece of parchment and some ink. _Maybe tomorrow morning._ Maybe she could manage to steal some to her dear husband before her maid arrived, if she managed to wake up early.

Or if she did not sleep at all. She was not able to anyway. She loosened her jaw’s tension, unclenched her fists and nodded in silence. She was taking more and more risks but she had no choice. When time comes, she shall run away. He would understand. He would know, once his ships lost, that she was responsible for the disaster. _I need the prince._ The idea disgusted her but there was nothing she could do against this sheer fact. He was the only one who could help her out of the Red Keep and the capital. If he survived. _I need to make sure he will._

As she was trying to come up with a solid plan, she saw sunlight reaching the windows and slowly filling the room with light. She closed her eyes, then, on the alert, and felt Tywin waking up. Wrapped in the sheets as if she was still sleeping, she listened to him. She heard watery noises. Silky swifts of fabric. Footsteps on the paved floor getting closer and closer. He stopped in front of her. Her breathing deep, she continued to pretend she was sleeping. He stayed here for a while, though she did not know if he observed her or something else. At some point she felt something on her cheek, exactly when his footsteps got away. _Ludicrous_ _,_ she bitterly mused. When she heard the door closing, she opened an eye and then the second. She was alone. At last.

Bare foot on the stones, she stealthily went to Tywin’s desk. Without touching any of the papers that covered it, she went through the drawers searching for an inkpot. She found one. It had been opened already – it was red ink. She grabbed it, found a blank sheet of parchment and an old quill thrown to the bin. It was damaged but it did not matter. Royce would understand. As discreetly as possible, she put the quill and the parchment inside one of her books. As for the inkpot… She looked around before she remembered her spyhole. She moved away the tapestry that covered it and, hoping it would not break, slipped the bottle inside. It was small enough to fit in. She guessed the mirror blocked it by the lack of noise. She thanked the seven gods and the others before she returned to her bed, waiting for the maid to come back. Perhaps she was making the greatest mistake of her life, but at least she tried. _Now I can only hope Ellaria is trustworthy._


	15. Final Masquerade

Though it was hardly a secret that the Dornish people were born-conspirators, she was not expecting an official invitation for lunch from Ellaria any soon. _A lunch._ The insult it would have been to be invited to a lunch organized by _the Serpent’s Whore_ if she ignored her paramour’s plot! Instead of despising her, Shara was surprised to appreciate her all the more so. She had no idea if the idea was hers or if she acted on Oberyn’s orders, but it was the best idea they ever had anyway.

She barely had enough time to quickly write a few words to Lord Nestor Royce. She ordered him to block the Vale’s harbours as soon as he would receive her second letter, and especially Gulltown’s where the ships would stop to stock up weapons and food, as well as Wickenden and Saltpans’ to make sure Tywin would not outsmart her. He would have to go through Saltpans’ harbour anyway; it is exactly where she wanted his ships to sink. She assured him of her perpetual support and her impending return, though she did not even if she would leave to see the next week. She signed, sealed the letter and slipped it in her bodice.

She went to the lunch with her guard. She never even tried to talk to him and she was quite certain that he would report any attempt to sympathize with him to Tywin. She pretended he did not exist and she was getting quite talented in this art. She usually talked for the sake of talking anyway, so even if he remembered everything, her blabbering would bore Tywin sooner than later.

She was the last to arrive, as it was appropriate for a woman as noble as she was. Every women in attendance – Dornishwomen more or less highly born, curtsied politely. Ellaria simply smiled and reached for her. Shara walked to her and carefully took her hand.

 

“It is such a honour to have you here, my Lady,” she said. Her accent rung of Dornish wines, of the Water Gardens and the southern deserts. “Such a pleasure too.

\- As it is for me, Ellaria.

\- It took me too long to invite you, I am so sorry. Prince Oberyn had to remind him before I forgot again.

\- Events come tumbling out so quickly that it is impossible for us to remember everything, so please do not apologize.”

 

She smiled again and asked her sit at her right. She summoned the servants and the dishes arrived, one after the other, every each one more refined than its predecessors. She pitied her guard to have to stand by these odours, colours and savours without tasting them, but then she remembered his mission was to keep her under surveillance and her pity was entirely lost.

She was not expecting grand conversations nor interesting ones. But she had to admit again that she underestimated the Dornishwomen. They were more independent than their Westerosi counterparts, and less naïve. They were aware of what happened around them and it made their conversation all the more so agreeable and enthralling. Dorne was a singular and unsung part of the realm, and its inhabitants had very decided opinions on things that were unanimously revered or hated everywhere else. _Father told me about them,_ she remembered. He praised their wit, though he warned her against their deception and their ability to kill without anyone to ever know. These last two characteristics, though not entirely baseless, hinted at the defiance of the capital's people for those who dared to live in the desert or the southern mountains.

 

“You must be worried for prince Oberyn,” Shara sighed when she felt the conversation struggling. “Fighting the Mountain is no small ordeal.

\- I do not fear for his life. He is a skilled duellist and he knows how to fight stronger foes.

\- I do not doubt it.” She smiled. Her guard turned her back on her, it was the perfect moment… She elbowed her fork and it fell with a jingling. “Oh gods, I am so clumsy!”

 

She bent down and, making the most of her position, took the letter off her bodice. The move was not lost on Ellaria who reached for her hand as soon as she straightened and hid the letter without a blink. She commented with humour on her clumsiness and the meal continued in a joyous atmosphere, especially now that she knew her letter was in good hands.

The dessert was already gone and they were drinking tea when Oberyn Martell’s figure appeared in the gardens. He bowed before so many beautiful women and planted a kiss on his paramour’s forehead, not without eyeing Shara. She simply nodded. His glances and his smiles did not bother her, but Tywin Lannister’s vengeance… _Do not think about it._ Her throat tightened at the mere thought of it.

 

“My Ladies,” he greeted the audience. “So much beauty around a table, what a splendid picture you make.

\- You flatter us, my prince.” Ellaria smiled back. “Would you sit with us? Please, take the place near Lady Lannister, Lady Jinessa just left us to see her mother.

\- If Lady Lannister grants me leave.

\- You are amongst your people, my prince. Do as you wish.”

 

He did not hesitate and indeed sat on Lady Jinessa Blackmont’s chair. She sat straight on her seat, aware that her guard must have received the express order to be even more vigilant when the prince of Dorne was around her. He tried nothing, at least nothing perceptible. But she knew that he could _feel_  how tense she was. How nervous.

The conversation resumed, still in a joyous tone, completely ignoring that tomorrow's fight would be the most important fight of the decade. _And the most dangerous, at that._ Oberyn looked rather relax, though, and gladly jovial. _I do not understand this man._ As if it was witty to risk his life and the whole kingdom for such an old vengeance. If only he had accepted to wait, she would have given it to him on a silver plate! She would have talked to Stannis, he would have never refused  _this_  gift to _this_ ally!

She was lost in her thoughts when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was her guard's rough and large hand. She frowned, surprised, before remembering that two guards took turns at noon or around, depending on what she did. This one should have been replaced hours ago… But he had to go back to the Tower of the Hand to switch with his colleague. And she did not want to go back to the Tower _at all,_ especially just to fetch another unshaken dog. Offended by his interference, Oberyn was the first to speak.

 

“Well, my good fellow, what is it?

\- I must be relieved,” he replied in a surly voice. “And she has to come.

\- Why would she not stay here, to wait for your companion to replace you? She is safe and sound with us, worry not.

\- Lord Lannister gave orders and…

\- Do you want me to tell the Lord Hand that your behaviour annoyed me? Go fetch your fellow. I am keeping an eye on Lady Lannister myself,” he retorted with the brightest smile. “Go.”

 

He hesitated for a long time before his smile turned into a rictus, the rictus into a grimace and his friendly eyes turned ice-cold. Then he ran away and vanished in the Red Keep’s corridors under the ladies’ applauds. She joined them discreetly, almost certain that Tywin had other ways to keep her under surveillance. Just in case.

Oberyn then stood up to bow down before his audience and to reach for her, asking her to follow him. _“I have to show my armour to Lady Lannister, so that she can assure her husband it not tampered with,”_ he announced as she took his hand and indeed followed him away from the table, behind a series of columns. She was almost surprised to indeed face an armour, made of brown and ochre leather and carved with the Martell sun. _A leather armour against the Mountain?_ If it was a joke, it was not a funny one. She frowned.

 

“You do not have the time to give me your opinion on my armour’s composition,” he interrupted her before she even had the time to make a comment. “I know what is happening in the North. How much time before you have to prostitute the Vale?

\- Too little.” She did not have the time to lie and conceal the truth. And she did not see the point. “Ellaria has a letter that must be sent to Lord Royce as soon as possible.

\- You warn him. What will you do once Tywin knows that you are involved in this debacle in the making?”

 

She did not reply because she had nothing to reply. It was obvious. _I will die._ It was not a question, it was not a possibility; it was a certainty. The rules were set from the beginning. She could not escape them. She gulped and sustained the prince of Dorne’s dark stare. He thoughtfully touched his armour. She had been useful for a time. She was no longer. _He is going to wish me good luck, smile and let me go with my guard,_ she mused. Somehow the idea filled her with distress. He was the only one who could still help her, save her.

 

“Once the Mountain is killed, I will have to run away from the capital. I am no fool, I know Tywin Lannister will never accept such an insult.

\- Run away from the capital? One does not simply run away from King’s Landing, how…

\- My men shall help me,” he interrupted her again. “I will leave in the dead of night, around midnight. If you happen to be here when I leave, you can come with me.

\- With you? You would take me with you?

\- We share an enemy, Shara. We already accomplished great things. We can continue.”

 

She kept quiet, bewildered. She could have felt offended to be called by her first name, or by the very little distance left between their faces, or even by the way his hand clenched her arm. She could have worried that they spent too much time hidden behind columns, but she did not. Her mind was stuck on what he just said. _Run away. With him._

She had dreamed of running away even before being _actually_ locked in a cage. She dreamed of returning to the Vale, live in the Eyrie, away from the capital and from this cesspool of a court. As she grew older, she dreamed of marrying a king, perhaps even Joffrey himself. Way latter, as her cell’s doors closed, she dreamed of being anywhere but behind the bars. She had ceased to dream and believe once wrapped in the red and gold coat of house Lannister. She had ceased to imagine that someone would help her run away.

And there he was, this someone, in the splendid person of Oberyn Martell. _This_ _is a trap._ It could not be anything else. Why would he risk his life for her? He did not need her in Dorne. She was a slightly more independent pawn than most, but a pawn nonetheless. Pawns are sacrificed during wars. She thought Stannis would sacrifice her, but he was not this kind of man. She never thought she could trust the prince of Dorne. At least not that much.

But if it was a trap indeed, why did he take so many precautions to tell her? He just needed to throw rumours and let Tywin get rid of her. She tried to speak, to ask why, how, but the words got stuck in her throat. He looked around to make sure they were still alone and leaned toward her. She felt his warm breath on her neck and it made her shiver.

 

“Do not let your pride kill you. I will wait until one in the morning near the stables,” he said in a calm, yet firm voice. “If you do not come, then I shall leave.

\- Why… How…

\- Stop asking questions and figuring that the whole realm wants you dead. You need my help and I offer it.

\- How can I be certain you will not betray me?

\- You cannot.” He stepped away, just enough to stare straight at her eyes. “But I believe you risk more if you stay.”

 

She kept still for a while before nodding. He smiled, satisfied, and continued in a higher voice that he wished to fight with a spear. He put himself between two columns to make sure everyone could see him and showed her the weapon. She was not in the mood to comment Oberyn’s choice of weapons; she already thought about the following day. She could only leave if Tywin had her write his letter. It was early. Perhaps too early. _I must convince him._ It was a matter of life and death.

It was no longer a matter of pride, game or scheme. If she did not manage to leave the capital quickly enough once the letter written, she could die as soon as Tywin’s fleet would be lost to Nestor Royce’s orders. It would be chaos amongst the crown’s men and it would help Stannis gain ground. But she would lose her life. And she was not so certain anymore that it was worth it, after all, to die for someone else's cause. When Oberyn reached for her, she smiled and took his arm to walk back to the table. She commented with wit, but inside she was burning.

When her new guard arrived, he did not arrived alone. He was followed by the Hand of the king, dressed in black as usual and harshly contrasting with the luxurious and colourful outfits of the guests. She stood up and curtsied alongside the whole audience except for the prince of Dorne who simply welcome him by standing. She did not need to ask what he was doing here – dismissing her guard did not please him. At all. She walked to him and barely reacted when he grabbed her arm authoritatively. _Trapped._ As usual. Ellaria looked at her from the other side of the table with genuine worry in her eyes. _This woman is a gem._ A shame that gems are only pretty and rather unable to save her.

 

“Prince Oberyn,” Lord Tywin greeted him. “I have been told you dismissed Lady Shara’s guard.

\- He needed to be relieved, or so he said. He did not need your wife and I wanted to show her my armour. I do not think the word ‘dismiss’ encompasses the situation well.

\- Be that as it may,” he interrupted him. “I would be grateful to you for respecting my orders. Especially those regarding my wife.”

 

She felt like he put an unnecessary emphasis on _my_ , and it left her with a bitter taste in the mouth. Though she had experienced it herself and suffered its consequences, she could not get used to the idea that _Tywin Lannister_ felt jealousy and possessiveness for her. She was his prisoner. His every wish was a command she could not escape. What was the point? The logic? He was too rational, and it was too incongruous. Impossible. At least, her mind refused to process the idea.

And yet. Given how he stared at Oberyn Martell and how he looked back at him, the two men seemed to be fighting for favours. Except that one of them was the most powerful man of the kingdom and the other the most reckless. And that the whole Dornish party stood between them.

 

“Then forgive me for my presumptuousness, Lord Hand,” the Dornishman eventually let out with a chastened smile. “I did not want Lady Shara to get tired.

\- Lady Shara is not a porcelain doll, though one may be confused.

\- I shall not contradict you here.” His smile slightly twisted. “After all, she is _your_ wife.

\- Lady Ellaria,” she intervened before the conversation worsened. “Thank you for your kind invitation. This meal was delightful.

\- Thank you for coming.”

 

She smiled, both friendly and sorry, and reached Oberyn to hold him back if need be. The two men had not looked away from each other and she could not help thinking about the spear. If Tywin insisted the slightest bit, he would be done with his cordial hatred. But he did nothing of the sort and simply turned, making sure she followed. She kept quiet, aware that a single word could send her straight to Casterly Rock. Tywin Lannister was too smart to imagine that she would not try to retaliate. And she was too careful to hope he would not try to narrow her cage’s bars.

And this cage was this tower that rose above the Red Keep and overlooked the bay as if trying to remind her that this blue vastness was lost to her. _Not if I can convince him, one last time._ Not if Oberyn was to be trusted. Not if she was capable to run away – not if she had the bravery and the cowardice to run. _Father must be screaming, wherever he is._ And yet she had no wish to join him.

 

“I thought I had been clear regarding Oberyn Martell,” he started as soon as they stepped into the Hand’s apartments. “But apparently you are not nearly as smart as you pretend to be.

\- I beg your pardon, my Lord?

\- Enough with the pleasantries.” He turned to face her. His eyes were not shining; they were sparkling with anger. “You think whoring for the Red Viper will convince him to help you?

\- How dare you?”

 

She raised her chine. She could care less about what he thought of her. Everything she thought she felt for him – respect, perhaps even admiration, it was all gone and she wanted one thing and one thing only: run away from him. But she would not let him insult her. He shivered and she saw his fist clenching. _I am not afraid of you._ He could not harm her. Not before he had her write his damn letter. And she had not written anything yet. He needed her.

 

“You may have right to life and death over me,” she continued in a stronger voice than she thought possible. “You may have every rights to my body and my existence, but none of that gives you any right to insult my honour.

\- Your honour? _Your honour?_ You sold it off the very day you took perjury over death, if you ever had one.

\- I suppose you do know a lot about it, Lord husband. Perjury, parricide, regicide, it runs in your blo…”

 

She did not have the time to finish her sentence. The Hand of the king’s gloved hand had just lashed on her cheek so violently it made her stumble. Staggering on the back of her dress, she heavily fell, her hand on her burning cheek as if it had been branded. The shock gone, she felt her heart tightening in fury. _I will have your head, my Lord. I will have your head before mine falls._

He stared at her from the full height of his power, his eyes feverish with wrath. She slowly stood up and faced him. How could she ever forget who he was? How could she ever imagine, even for so little as a minute, that he was not the monster he always was? _How could I respect him? Think highly of him? Submit to him?_ He was just a man, slave of drives just as vile as those that enslave the worst peasant or sellsword.  _He is just a man._ And all men could die.  _Must, die._  She saw him unclench his fist. He was going to talk when she cut him.

 

“Do you need me, my Lord?” Her voice was ice-cold, as it should have always been. “Or may I return to my apartments?

\- You will not return to your apartments. You will stay here under his watch.

\- As you wish.

\- From now on,” he continued. “You will not leave this room.

\- As you desire.

\- You will leave King’s Landing for Casterly Rock as soon as the trial is over.

\- If it befits you.”

 

But she did not listen anymore. She knew the order would come, that it would be the first thing she would have to do. And she knew that she unwillingly just touched his weakest spot: his pride. She knew that she was spending her last hours in this tower. She knew that, whatever happened the following day, she would not return here. She would not be prisoner anymore. _No one’s_ prisoner.

Facing this suddenly neutral, polite and courteous face she displayed, she saw his self-confidence faltering. Even so slightly. _Have you already forgotten my Lord? I am a bird of ill omen. A mocking bird._ A court’s monster, created both by a father with an intense political sense, and by the Lannisters and their plots, their whisperings and their baseness. Did he just realize it? She could not know and would never know. What she knew was that she had just changed her losing hand for a winning one.

 

“Sit at my desk and write.”


	16. Leap in the Unknown

The air was suffocating when she sat at her place in the terraces that surrounded the Red Keep’s court of honour. The series of tribunes that were used during the trial had been installed in full sunlight for the court to be able to attend the trial by combat of Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, against prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne. The excitement was such that they almost all forgot the true reason behind this sham: Tyrion Lannister’s innocence or guilt. He was standing by the Dornish tents, near Ellaria who twisted her hands watching at the monster in the middle of the court.

Shara herself could not help feeling her throat tightening. Gregor Clegane _was_ a monster, no one could deny it. Everyone was actually scared of him, more or less consciously, even his own brother, Sandor Clegane. Joffrey’s hound, missing since the Battle of the Blackwater. The Hound and the Mountain. _A charming family indeed._ He wielded a giant sword, almost bigger than herself and probably heavier, and circled his brand new battlefield. Near her, Cersei Lannister beamed with sheer pride at the idea that only her champion could win. 

The other champion arrived late, as she expected him to. He was wearing the armour he showed her the day before and held his spear. He was not wearing any helmet, at least not yet. He exchanged a few words with Tyrion and a long kiss with Ellaria before turning to her. Tywin was not there yet, too busy with the last preparations of the duel, so she nodded with a small smile. His smile widened. She pointed her own skull and frowned. His smile widened even more and hailed his squire who handed him what remotely looked like a helmet. _It will not stand a sword hit._ She did not need to be a specialist in tourney to know that. But at least it protected the most fragile parts of his face – forehead, nape of the neck and partially his eyes since the two snakes that decorated the helmet joined on his nose, under his eyes.

When Tywin arrived, smiles and laughs disappeared into thin air and a lead weight fell on the audience, Oberyn excluded. He was still smiling and checked the spear’s edge. _This spear oddly shines._ She would not be surprised if it happened to be poisoned. Not at all. Still, she looked away from him and greeted her husband. He did not even look at her. She gritted her teeth and looked at the Mountain. His squires were terrified, it was obvious. They barely dared to approach him. _Hm. How surprising._ She kept still when the Hand cleared his throat to talk and simply looked at arena. He announced the beginning of the duel and let the Great Septon vomit his stupid prayers.

What was happening in front of her was way more interesting: the Mountain was getting ready. His shield was basically a huge plank of oak wood hooped with iron, his helmet was probably tough but it was awful. As for his armour… Oberyn’s flexible leather and colourful silks would not be half as protective as a single plate of Clegane’s armour, even with the mailed he had put above his gorgerin and spaulder. _Copper,_ she noted. _Aesthetically pleasing. Useless in a fight._ Oberyn Martell was toying with fire, forgetting that even snakes can burn.

Soon enough, the two men advanced to the other, the prince swift and supple, the Mountain heavy and oppressive. She could not say if the ground was trembling or if it was her heart pounding. They were a few feet away from each other when Oberyn spoke. In the empty arena, the slightest breathing echoed as it would have in a sept. She shivered.

 

“Have they told you who I am?

\- Some dead man,” he groaned, still walking.

\- I am Oberyn Martell, a prince of Dorne.” They were playing a dangerous game. He walked around Clegane like a snake about to bite. “Princess Elia was my sister.

\- Who?”

 

She closed her eyes. For a while. _It all makes sense._ The armour, the spear, the helmet. He was not going to fight. He was not defending Tyrion, but she knew that much already. It was not a fight; it was an indictment. She did not turn to look at Tywin but she could feel him tensing. _Do not play, Oberyn. Not with your life._ And hers.

The Dornish spear flied but was quickly blocked. The Mountain did not manage to touch Oberyn who dodged him. The first hits rained and it was like watching a strange ballet, both gracious and heavy, like their dancers. Hypnotized, she did not manage to look away from the prince who did not stop hitting until he managed to slice his enemy’s surcoat. He carved a long shiny scratch on the plate.

 

“Elia Martell,” he continued and his powerful voice snatched her away from her torpor. “You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children. You raped her. You killed her. And you killed her children.

\- Did you come to talk or to fight?” the Mountain groaned.

\- I came to hear you confess.”

 

She turned her head for a second to Tywin. She saw his eyes. They were pale, livid and it was not because of fear. It was anger. Fury. _Your turn to be humiliated, my Lord._ As the fight resumed, redoubling in ardour and hatred, she felt her heart jumping, her throat tightening. Oberyn ended up more than once in a position that should have killed him.

But he was the Rep Viper, and the Red Viper was not a man to die like this. He dodged, slipped away, jumped everywhere and in every direction, making the most of the prodigious blind spot of the Mountain’s helmet. He was just as aerial as his foe was heavy; as svelte and swift as he was brutal.

And as loud as the Mountain was silent. Oberyn screamed, yelled, repeated his litany every second. _You raped her. You killed her. You killed her children._ Like a loop, a funeral chant that heralded nothing good. His moves turned more violent, his face twisted every second a bit more, Clegane was getting more and more annoyed but still he chanted his three sentences like three scourges. Without realizing, Shara was clenching her dress in her fists. _He cannot die. He must not die._ It mattered very little now if Tywin understood. If he died, she died with him.

Things sped up when the Mountain ordered him to quiet. More furious than ever, they ended up in the stables where he had cornered the prince. The whole court held its breath but he managed to escape. The poor stable lad who hid in there was not so lucky. Clegane sent half of his skull flying with a sway of his hand. It landed in the tribunes that emptied immediately. It did not matter now who won; Tyrion Lannister did not matter anymore. The litany had changed. _Say her name. I will hear you say it. She was Elia of Dorne._ At the very moment he uttered this name, as if the gods themselves stepped in, a blinding sun burst through the clouds that darkened the sky since the beginning of the fight. _Dorne’s sun,_ she mused, narrowing her eyes.

Beat up, dented, almost out of use, Oberyn’s so-called armour was still shiny and it reflected the rays of sunlight when he rushed to them. It projected them in the Mountain’s eyes, who let out a guttural growl. When the prince’s spear entered his stomach, his growl turned into a shriek. She held her breath and grabbed the armrest of her chair not to stand like most of those who were this watching this horrific spectacle.

 

“Elia… Say it! Elia of Dorne! _SAY IT!_ ” Oberyn was now screaming, his pike raised, about to strike again. _Hit him, hit him before he stands…_ “ELIA OF DORNE!”

 

It took her a while to understand what happened after that. He turned, walked away from the Mountain’s bloodied body, but immediately turned to run, driving his spear down with the whole weight of his body behind it and… _Flew._ Vaulting over the Mountain in a huge _crack_ that only Cersei’s outraged scream echoed, now standing too. A second after, the prince of Dorne was on the ground again and four pieces of his broken spear arose from the Mountain’s stomach.

Oberyn seized the his foe’s greatsword and walked around him like a lion awaiting his meal. Shara could barely breath. Tywin and her were the last still seating. _Kill him!_

 

“If you die before you say her name, ser, I will hunt you through all seven hells!”

 

He raised the sword, but she never knew if he wanted to cut his head, his throat or drive it through his visor, since the Mountain’s powerful arm knocked him down to the ground. Oberyn’s only luck was that he did not let go of the sword while a wounded Clegane tried to tear his helmet off.

This time she stood and dashed on the tribune’s fence. She felt Tywin’s eyes on her back but she did not manage to think correctly. _I put my life in the Viper’s hand,_ she realized. _But Vipers have no hands._ She felt a sob stuck in her throat.

 

“Elia of Dorne,” she eventually heard. “I killed her screaming whelps. _Then_ I raped her. _Then_ I smashed her fucking hea…”

 

There was a shriek, more raucous, more bestial than ever and the whole audience saw the Mountain’s sword piercing his back. The noises of his armour suddenly stopped as the sword disappeared. Silence came back, dazed. They all saw Gregor Clegane’s body hitting the floor, near Oberyn Martell whose helmet had just started to bend under his fingers’ pressure. They all saw him standing up, staggering, turning to Tywin Lannister. They all saw him throwing away his helmet and reeling to the tribune.

She found his feverish eyes. They lingered on her, just enough for her to understand the full meaning of what he just did. _He killed the Mountain._ He won the duel. She had to cling unto the fence not to fall, at least until she felt Tywin grabbing her arm both to hold her and threaten her.

 

“Who gave the order?” Oberyn asked, in a weak voice at first. It grew stronger. “Who gave the order?

\- This duel…

 _\- Who gave the order?_ ” The question was useless. He was staring at the Hand of the king, straight at his eyes. “Do we need to reach such length for you to confess as well?”

 

Then the silence that still loomed over the audience changed. She glimpsed Tywin Lannister’s emerald eyes. She understood that if Oberyn insisted, the whole Kingsguard would swoop down on him, ignoring every convention, every sacred laws of hospitality. She turned her head to Ellaria who understood the crisis as well.

Understanding her stare, she yelped in relief and dashed on her paramour who barely reacted. Interpreting her move as the end of the fight, the court applauded the champion. None of that had soothed the tension between the two men, but the Great Septon’s intervention announcing the prince’s victory, and Tyrion Lannister’s innocence as a consequence, had them separate. She saw the Dornish knights surrounding their prince and leading him away from her while her own guard took her back to the Tower of the Hand. She found his eyes again and saw him nod. _I will be there,_ she promised. _I will be there before you leave._

 

She heard the Hand declaring Tyrion Lannister innocent and announcing that a great hunt would be organized in the Kingswood the following day to celebrate prince Oberyn’s victory. She did not hear more once in the marital room. She was not surprised to see that the desk was stripped of its parchments, papers, files and that there was a simple candle in the middle of the table. She gritted her teeth and paced the room. These apartments did not have a balcony, and they were not linked to the others. She would not be able to leave this way… And Tywin would be there anyway. She needed a plan. A quick one. The afternoon was almost over and her dinner was already on the dressing table.

She had no time to devise a plan; she heard voices in the antechamber and the door opened on Ser Jaime Lannister. Pretending to be surprised, she curtsied and let him kiss her hand. _Why is he here?_ She usually only had the right to be watched over by rejects of the Kingsguard or the City Watch, so the glorious heir of house Lannister? Stiff in his shiny armour, he put his helmet on his father’s desk before he cleared his voice.

 

“The Hand sends me to advice you of your departure for Casterly Rock tomorrow at dawn,” he announced her. “I will guard your room until then.

\- The Lord Hand will not sleep here tonight, then?

\- He shall leave the castle with a part of the court for the Kingswood tonight. He wishes you a pleasant journey, though.”

 

 _And a pleasant chopping block._ She nodded and sat at her dressing table. She looked at her reflection, searching for a way to get rid of Jaime Lannister. She had to be beyond suspicions. He had to get used to her calm and loosen his guard. She smiled and grabbed her bedside book.

She read it until it was late, until her maid came to draw the screens and help her change. She insisted to put on an actual dress on her nightdress, pretending she was cold. The maid, surprised, eventually accepted to give her the lightest dress she could find – a deep red, almost brown, dress. She ordered her to braid her hair and dismissed her. She could not travel with her hair in the way.

 

Then only she ate the salad she had been given. It would have been pleasing enough if she had been hungry. She nibbled in it, ate a few tomatoes and carrots to keep up appearances, before she noticed the lemon cake near the wine carafe. She turned her head to Jaime who had not moved nor talked since he arrived.

 

“Do you want some?” she asked, gesturing the cake. He shook his head. “A glass of wine? It is a bit strong for my taste.

\- It comes from the Arbour. Her majesty likes it very much.

\- Her majesty has a finer and more educated palate than mine, I am afraid.” He blinked before she poured some in a glass. “Do you want it?”

 

He hesitated but eventually came. He thanked her and, without looking away from her, drunk it. She knew the wine was good; it was one of Joffrey’s many wedding gifts from the Reach. She had drunk some with Ellaria the day before, but Jaime had no way to know that. She smiled when he put the cup down and turned to him. He was still rigid, as if he was expecting some ploys from her. _Not wrong._

 

“You must be relieved to know your brother is innocent.

\- The gods have chosen,” he simply said. “It is all that matters.

\- Still.” She shook her head and lowered her voice. “I never thought Lord Tyrion was guilty.

\- Did you, now?

\- Your brother is far too smart to commit such a crime and leave so many evidence around. If it had been him, he would have never been accused.”

 

Jaime frowned, surprised by her honesty. He nodded, though, because he did agree with her. She filled another cup and insisted to clink glasses with him – they did. _To justice,_ he declared. She smiled again. He was not entirely indifferent to her smile, she could feel it. He could not be, though; she was beautiful and she knew she was. Beauty was a weapon like any other, after all.

When he turned to go back to his post, she seized the nearest heavy object she could find – a brass chandelier, and knocked it down on his neck. He collapsed on the paved floor. She kept still, stunned at the mere thought of knocking Jaime Lannister unconscious before she put the chandelier back on the table and rushed to the closet. She grabbed a fur coat, wrapped herself in it, hid her braid on her back and looked around. She needed a weapon, anything to protect herself.

She knelt down near Jaime Lannister’s unconscious body and took his dagger. Its knob figured a lion and the blade was veined with gold. She slipped it between her belt and her waist, put her hood on and pushed the door. _Be brave, Shara. If you fail, you die only a few days earlier than planned._ She ran down the Tower of the Hand’s stairs and, avoiding the guards, slipped in the gardens where she knew she would cross no one.

A cold wind blew through the alleys, enough for her to tighten the belt on her too-light dress. Her fist clenched around Jaime’s dagger, she hid behind the high hedges until she had to leave the gardens to run to the stables where she could already see people. Silent people, barely whispering. She stealthily walked closer to make sure those people were Dornish and made a few more steps when she recognized Ellaria’s voice.

 

“Stop now,” she was ordered. “Let go of what you hold.

\- Lady Shara. I did not think you would dare to come.” Oberyn Martell appeared behind one of his men. “How did you escape Jaime Lannister’s vigilance?

\- We shall have all the time in the world for stories once away from the Red Keep.”

 

He smiled and gestured her to come closer. He was wrapped in a rather anonymous coat and his men were preparing a dark thoroughbred with flaming hairs. _His mount._ She kept still with the sudden feeling of being in the way. She only spoke again when Ellaria walked to her.

 

“Are you coming with us?

\- No, I am staying,” she said with a smile. “I must cover Oberyn’s departure, at least until you reach Dorne.

\- But you…

\- I do not fear the Lannisters. Oberyn needs me here.” She made sure her coat was tight enough, as a mother would do to her child. “You are not taking my place, worry not.

\- You will risk your life.

\- I know.”

 

She smiled again and was going to add something when the Dornish prince ordered Shara to come. Ellaria sighed and took her hands in hers. They were warm and soft, her fingers were thin. Her moves were tender, like a friend’s would be. _Is she a friend?_ She let her do it, not knowing how to react.

 

“Take care of yourself, Shara,” she whispered. “Your war is not over.

\- You do seem worried, yet you stay here in the Lannister’s claws and I leave with your lover as far from them as possible. I do not understand.

\- You fear my jealousy?” She chuckled. “You cannot understand. Not yet.

\- Lady Shara, it is time,” Oberyn reminded her, joining Ellaria. “Unless you regret your husband already?”

 

She frowned and took away her hands. She eyed Ellaria one last time and saw her in her paramour’s arms. He whispered something that made her smile when she turned to his mount. One of the Dornish men helped her to ride it, side-saddle for lack of another choice. Oberyn joined her a minute later. He waived his men and, with a kick, sent his horse at full gallop through the inner court and King’s Landing streets.

Clinging onto the saddle, she looked back to the Red Keep that already vanished in the dark. _It may be the last time I see it,_ she realized. _Maybe it is not._ She shivered, but it was not because of the wind. She was running away from the Red Keep with the prince of Dorne. She was fanning flames that awaited a little air to be set ablaze. _I am putting the kingdom through fire and blood._


	17. Playing hard to get

They rode all night long without a pause. They only stopped at first lights at a coaching inn to change their mount. She kept away, her hood on her head and her hair hidden under the cloak. No one could possibly know she had left, not if Tywin had already left King’s Landing and not as long as Jaime Lannister was dozing on the floor of his father’s bedroom. _Must be awake now, though._ She had no idea where they exactly were, she simply knew they were not being followed and it was all that mattered.

 

“You abandon your stallion?” she asked when Oberyn came back. “Such a waste.

\- I gave them enough gold to send it back to Dorne. I am not worried, no one can ride it but me.

\- A horse worthy of its owner.

\- You still have not told me how you escaped the noblest cripple of the realm.”

 

He leaned onto the wall she was herself resting against and stared at her. He was close, very close, way too close in any sense of propriety. But propriety did not cover the possibility to run away right under the most powerful man of the kingdom’s nose, so she did not move. She sustained this dark gaze of him and smirked.

 

“I am just going to say that he may have been knocked out by some heavy object. A pure coincidence, obviously.

\- Obviously.” He scoffed. “So now you are violent, hm? Not simply traitress but also aggressor?

\- You really think you are the only one able to fight stronger than you?

\- If I won it means he was not.”

 

This time she was the once to chuckle. Quite paradoxically and though she should have felt anguished or, at the very least, worried, she felt better than ever. She broke so many barriers and stomped on so many prohibitions that she now felt freer than ever, as if nothing mattered more than reaching Dorne safe and sound. And she knew Oberyn Martell was not a man to be caught.

When she calmed down, a smile lingering on her lips, the prince of Dorne’s eyes were still on her. He looked surprised, almost startled. She tilted her head and slightly frowned.

 

“I did not imagine you could laugh so…

\- Genuinely?” Her smile twisted a bit. “There are many things you ignore about me, my prince.

\- I hope to get to know some of them once in Dorne.

\- About that,” she continued to keep control over the conversation. “When do you plan to be in Sunspear?”

 

 _Or the Water Gardens, for that matter._ He was going to answer her when the owner of the inn hailed him to test the mare he was bringing with him. She followed him out of curiosity and safety and watched him feel its limbs, testing its strength. In his dark leather outfit, he looked like some rich seller from the south. It was almost strange to see him without his colourful and lustrous tunics. _He almost looks elegant._ If she were to be perfectly honest, she would have to admit he looked elegant in any outfit, but it was beyond her capacities.

With the help of the owner, she got onto the horse behind her fellow traveller. He thanked the man and spurred the mount. He decided to keep away from the roads and turned to the nearest woods to avoid the caravans that would soon start to circulate around the capital, at the risk of slowing down and… Lose her passenger.

 

She tried to hold onto the saddle as best as she could, but the nice ride in the woods quickly turned into an ordeal, her pride stopping her from clinging unto Oberyn himself. Only when she almost fell down the horse did she accept to slip her arms around his waist, to his greatest pleasure. She gritted her teeth and refused to look at him.

 

“We are riding to Duskendale. From there we will take the first Dornish ship we can find.

\- Duskendale is used as a commercial harbour by the capital until the bay is negotiable again,” she noted. “Do you really think we will go unnoticed? They must have been warned of our disappearance.

\- Of yours, perhaps. Not of mine, at least not yet.

\- You are not with the hunt, Tywin…

\- One of my men went there for me. We have a day lead on your husband.”

 

She eventually nodded. He had planned everything, at least more than her. She let him do as he wished until the small wood they were hidden in gradually thinned to disappear. Once back on the road, Oberyn tried to keep a reasonable pace for travellers. She kept her hood on her head and leaned against her companion’s back, if only to appear as a couple for the few other travellers they met. The idea did not disgust her as much as it should have, but she decided that she was simply too tired for this kind of thing. And that she had no other choice anyway.

They passed Rosby around mid-morning and exchanged their mount again. Cautious, she made sure to say very little when asked questions and let Oberyn do the talking. The lying, more precisely, and she made sure to remember it all. To make sure she could repeat them, but also because Oberyn Martell was a formidable storyteller. They were sellers from the Dornish Marches heading to Duskendale where they would negotiate a contract before returning to Dorne. Her name was Elia – the irony and cynicism of his choice was not lost on her, and his was Tarik.

 

“Elia?” she said once back on the road. “Are you trying to convey a message?

\- Not in the least. It is just the most beautiful name that exists.

\- Then I am flattered.

\- As you should.” She sensed the smile in his voice. “After all, you are the most beautiful woman of this kingdom.

\- Are we far yet from Duskendale?

\- A few hours away, I think. We will be there tonight.”

 

She nodded and lost herself in her thoughts, looking at the road. She had been to Duskendale once, when she went to Dragonstone to pay a visit to Stannis Baratheon with her father, a few months before he died. The man may have been the Master of ships of the late king Robert, he still spent most of his time on his island. She kept no good memories of it, though: everything was dark, humid, the castle was covered with gargoyles and other chimeras. Something heavy and dangerous floated in the air. Even the gardens looked threatening, almost as much as the dragons littering the whole castle.

Though she hardly appreciated her stay, the few days she spent in Dragonstone sealed her own fate. Of all those who would rip each other to pieces for the crown a few months later, Stannis Baratheon was neither the most charismatic nor the most engaging. He was not friendly like Renly, or heroic like Robb, or flamboyant like Joffrey, or violent like Balon Greyjoy. He did not revel in battles and blood, sitting on the throne was a mere duty to him. But it was not really this that convinced her to support him. He was the only one to actively seek her support, amongst the pretenders. He remembered the young woman who came with the old Jon Arryn and he remembered her cleverness. He decided to listen to her and trust her – it was the only reason why she was still loyal to him to this day.

 

And it was the only reason why she would not wait for this damn war to end once in Dorne, and would not wait for Tywin Lannister to die – it would not take long anyway. She had to continue to fight for him and for the Vale, even if all she wanted was to return to the Eyrie and forget for a time the court and its agony. Instead of that, she was running away with a man who had defied, and worst than that won against, Tywin Lannister to a land she knew very little about, and was not sure to be welcome in. _My life a continuous disaster,_ she mused as Duskendale’s walls appeared before them. They abandoned the horse and entered the city.

 

“Take my arm,” Oberyn ordered her. “Until we are on a ship, you are my wife.

\- You seem too happy to call me your wife, _husband_.

\- Do you want me to regret marrying you, my lady wife?”

 

He side-glanced her while she rolled her eyes before actually taking his arm. He led her through the streets of the city as she admired the paved streets and, above, the Dun Fort of House Rikker. She could not help wondering what the city looked like, back during the Defiance. Back when the Darklyn dared to kidnap their king and keep him prisoner until Tywin Lannister, already Hand of a king, decided to exterminate every each members of this house as well as house Hollard. The idea that it may be the fate awaiting every house that helped her and Stannis made her shiver. _I have to succeed._ It was not an option.

When they reached the harbour, Oberyn headed to the first worker he found and asked him if a Dornish ship was to leave the harbour. The man motioned a vessel, warning him that it would leave very soon. After handing him a dragon, the prince took Shara to the ship that the workers had just finished to fill. He hailed the captain who stepped down the deck to meet them.

 

“Sorry, I ain’t taking no one,” he said before Oberyn even had the time to say anything. “Must reach Sunspear and head to Braavos.

\- No one, you say? Not even a fellow Dornishman?

\- I’m Dornish and I wouldn’t take myself even if I could.”

 

Still clinging onto Oberyn, she looked at him warily. He frowned and took the captain away from the other crewmembers, behind a pile of chests. He was going to scream and struggle but it only took a glance to have him quiet. Oberyn looked around while he kept him still, firmly but softly enough not to scare him too much.

 

“Would you make an effort for you prince?

\- My…” The man paled and it looked strange on his dark skin. He almost fell on his knees. “My prince, I beg pardon, I ain’t…

\- Enough, my good fellow. I need you to bring me and my… Companion to the Water Gardens.

\- It will be a honour, your highness, anything I can do for you I’ll do.”

 

She refrained from smiling, watching this poor man who probably saw his whole life unfolding before his eyes. He ran to his ship and announced that they had two prestigious guests on board. Oberyn winced. _We cannot blame him,_ she thought while stepping on the vessel’s deck, _it must be the first time he sees his prince._ One of the crewmembers helped her hopping over the rail. He bowed deeply and, once she had thanked him, vanished while walking backward, not daring to turn his back on her.

It was a sight to behold, really, to see these lowborn men rushing to greet their prince, talk with him, bow and return to their work. She never really had the chance to meet her people and it would have been a lie to say that she missed it. It was the first time she experienced the loyalty of the Dornish people for house Martell, and especially for Oberyn. They all wanted to congratulate him for his victory over the Mountain, and to thank him for what he did for princess Elia. 

She stood apart, resting against a chest of ropes, observing the restlessness when the ship left the harbour. The lead weight on her shoulders vanished; she had left the Crownlands. She was safe, heading to Dorne. She sighed. Her hood, gone with the wind, fell on her shoulders and unveiled her hair and her face. No one seemed to notice, except Oberyn who went to her after talking with the captain.

 

“We have a few days at sea before we reached our coasts,” he declared, forgetting the coasts were _his_ only. “I hope you are not seasick.

\- I have been at sea quite a few times, my prince. Do not mistake me for a porcelain doll.

\- Worry not.” He smiled with amusement. “If your skin is made of any material, it is not porcelain. Maybe ivory. Maybe steel.

\- See? You already know more about me.”

 

She smiled as he was crossing his arms on his chest. He tilted his head and motioned the braid that had flied out of her cloak. He moved his hand closer to her face and, with a light finger, brushed away a strand of golden hair from her eyes. She let him, surprised by his gentleness, and caught out. _What is he…_ She gulped and turned her eyes away when she understood what this move exactly meant.

 

“Do you think I should keep my hood on?

\- No, there is no use.” He shrugged. “The captain is a honest man. He did not even ask who you are.

\- These people seem to love you. Revere you.

\- You must know what it is to be loved and revered,” he sighed, caressing her cheek. “This hood hid your face only too well anyway.”

 

She kept still for a while and turned away. She leaned onto the rail and stared as Duskendale’s harbour gradually disappeared. She shook her head slightly, sensing herself blushing and her thoughts dispersing. Oberyn Martell was a man like none other: confident to a fault, smart, dangerous and as attractive as he was repulsive. It was very rare for her to feel so conflicted about someone – she was as quick to love as she was to hate, but once one or the other extreme was reached, she never changed her mind. _I am never wrong anyway._

It was different with him. He blew hot and cold and she shifted between actual repulsion and genuine interest in him. He was not nearly as predictable as the other men she knew: he was not as cold as her father and yet sometimes matched him, he was not as scheming as Tywin but the mere fact that they were still alive proved that he could be, he was not as warm as Robb Stark but one of his smile was enough for her to feel like smiling. He was an enigma and she hated enigmas just as much as she loved them. She probably was his own personal enigma, judging by the way he looked at her.

 

“It is all too easy,” she eventually said. “We ride without meeting anyone, we find a ship without negotiating it…

\- Do not delude yourself, this was the easy part. You have yet to convince my brother not to ship you back to King’s Landing once in Dorne.

\- You brother must be reasonable, if shipping me back is his only threat. Here I thought you Martells were half-crazed.

\- And here I thought honours made you Arryns soft in the head,” he retorted. “Let us not dwell in platitude, shall we?”

 

She did not say anything. She did not have the time to since the captain interrupted them to ask them to follow him to the cabin he offered them. _Cabin?_ A part of her education suddenly rushed back and she almost asked where Oberyn would sleep – before remembering she was supposed to be close to him. Intimate. She made no comment when he showed them the minuscule room where they were both supposed to sleep. The place was so tiny that she could not help wondering how the bed and the furniture could fit – they looked disproportionate inside these walls. _I am scornful,_ she admonished herself. _He is trying his best to please us._

Perhaps he was, but still she would have to share this closed space with Oberyn Martell. She had spent entire nights sleeping next to a man who wished her dead, but it was not the same; Tywin Lannister never seemed to be a threat. Not this kind of threat anyway. _You stupid girl, of course he was._ She could not help remember their marriage’s consummation. But it was not the same. He was not Dornish, he was not his only ally and he was not… Well, he was not him. When the captain left to let them settle for the night after promising he would bring them dinner, she coiled in a corner of the room and watched Oberyn while he looked around the place.

 

“We will not sleep in the same bed,” she announced. “Even if it means I have to sleep on the ground.

\- You, sleeping on the ground?” He burst out into laughter. “The great, the proud Shara Arryn, sleeping on the ground? You must be _really_ scared of me to reach such extreme measures.

\- It is not about fear, but decency. I am…

\- Married? Forgive me, I tend to forget you willingly married the cruellest man of the realm.”

 

Her jaw tensed almost immediately. There was mockery in his voice, but sarcasm barely veiled his true thoughts. Even if she could not blame him for despising her choices, especially this once, she hated the idea that a man like him could simply scold her for them. He had given up on his lover and his party to save himself. He preferred to endanger his own life and the kingdom’s peace instead of waiting a bit more for his vengeance. How dare he judge the way she survived? He turned to her with a dark smile.

 

“Truth does hurt, right? Get used to it. Where we are heading, this marriage of yours will not be forgotten.

\- You may be right,” she said, her voice a bit hoarse. “And I would accept this kind of remark coming from anyone. But you? I have no lesson to receive from you.

\- Must I remind you who brought you here? Gratefulness was not part of dear old Jon Arryn’s education?

\- You put me in this situation.” She stepped toward him, rumbling. “It is only fair that you are the one to take me out of it.”

 

It was not true, it was the most disloyal lie she could find, but she was _not_ in the mood for accepting the idea that she owed everything to _this_ man. She saw his eyes igniting, but she could not tell if it was of amusement or anger. Probably both.

 

“You think yourself so smart, so unreachable from all the height of your pride,” he mocked her. “But who do you think you are? Another beautiful face, a beautiful face who made the mistake of playing politics. You think yourself so savvy, saviour of the kingdom, but your letters, your schemes and your smiles only led you to the Red Keep’s cells. What do you think you will get from the help you give to Stannis Baratheon? More pride? Maybe you already picture yourself as queen? Your father must be spinning in his grave, watching you corrupting yourself for a man who barely remembers your name.”

 

He had walked closer during the whole length of his speech, thought it did not mean much given the smallness of the room. Before she had the time to think of anything to say, he grabbed her waist and kept her pressed against him, his hand strongly clutching the fabric of her dress. She was stuck. She was fuming. Everything he said was true, so terribly true that she would have collapsed if not for him. She thought about her father and the opinion he would have of her now… But it did not give Oberyn Martell the right to blame her like this. _I hate him,_ she repeated herself. _I hate him. I will kill as soon as I can._

 

“Running low on reaction, I see?” He smiled even more. “You found stronger than you, Lady Shara.

\- A beautiful speech, full of beautiful truths,” she retorted, slipping her hand to the prince’s belt where he hid his knives. “Do you really hope I will answer that? My soul is not nearly as vile as yours.

\- It takes one to know one. The pretty bird strives to attack.

\- You cannot imagine how bad I can hurt.”

 

She sensed one of his knives near her fingers, but she was still too far. She pressed herself against him even more, body and face. It startled Oberyn just enough for him to release her waist to seize her face in his hands… Before freezing in his move. His eyes started to shine even more intensely as she pressed the tip of his own blade against his back. She stepped back, just enough to be able to press it against his throat. He did not move, eyes on her, waiting for her next move. She simply smiled.

 

“Get out of here,” she hissed. “Go eat with the people you hold so dear. Never touch me again or the seven hells will seem very sweet compared to what I will do to you.

\- Do not bite the hand that saves you, Shara.

\- Do not mistake me for a poor lady is distress.” She pushed the blade a bit more, enough for a drop of blood to appear. “I survived far worse than your poison.”

 

She stepped away, the knife still in her hand, as he continued to stare. He put a hand on his throat and looked at the blood on his hand, before turning and leaving. She kept still for a while before sliding against the wall, her fingers tense around the grip of the dagger. She was exhausted and, worse than that, she was weary. The enthusiasm of the morning had turned into disillusion. _I want to go back to the Vale._ Oberyn’s words echoed in her head like a concert of painful truths. _I should have never done any of this._ It was the last thought that crossed her mind as she fell asleep fully clothed on the still done bed, the knife next to her head. _He is right. I am corrupted._


	18. Wildfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another milestone for us to reach! 1,5K! We're almost there, though, so it might not be too hard to reach. Maybe 2K then?
> 
> Thank you for your many comments, I'm so glad to receive and read them! Hope you'll enjoy the rest of it!

She slept through the night and most of the morning as a sick person would: without a move, without a single noise, without ever waking up. Footsteps and loadings sounds woke her from what felt like a coma more than a sleep. It took her a while to remember where she was and why she was there, but once she did she realized she was alone and probably had been the whole night. Nothing had changed since the evening, except maybe the sheets that were now drawn on her instead of under her. She gathered her dress, cursing her maid for her brilliant idea of putting a dress _above_ her nightgown, and braided her head again before glancing outside of the cabin.

The ship was stopped in a harbour and the crew was loading the hold with huge trunks without noticing the blonde-haired woman who stared at them. She searched for the captain: he was talking with Oberyn, who looked grave and careful. _What is going on?_ She pushed the door a bit more with a hideous grating that caught the attention of those close enough to hear. They greeted her with a smile but she did not have the time to greet them back since she found herself in the cabin again, pushed inside by her travel companion.

She tensed and pushed him away once inside. He greeted his teeth and rolled his eyes but did not insist. He looked outside the porthole and drew the curtain she had opened to shine a bit of light inside the cabin. She watched him with a mix of annoyance, curiosity and bewilderment.

 

“You were wondering if Jaime Lannister would ever sound the alarm, well he just did,” he declared, checking that nothing suspicious was getting close to the cabin. “Dozens of ravens have been released and are now heading to every big cities around to announce your kidnapping.

\- Tywin pretends I have been abducted?” She kept quiet for a few seconds before nodding. “It is adequate.

\- Of course it is. He is not going to shoot from roof tops that his own wife has ran away with the Red Viper.

\- The mere idea must infuriate him.”

 

She remembered his barely veiled anger, the night she had to _endure_ her marital duties. The Hand must have burst with fury when notified of her escape. _He let me part the bars,_ she mused. He could only blame himself if she found a way to fly away. Despite the deep satisfaction the idea of outsmarting Tywin Lannister brought her, she felt her heart slightly tightening. _He used to think highly of me. Did he not?_ She frowned and shrugged off this stupid thought; he never did. And she never thought highly of him. It was a fool’s game they were playing, and she had played better than him. It was all. It had to be all.

 

“In other words, you and I are now wanted,” she deduced, crossing her arms. “What does the captain say?

\- He does not trust the Hand of the king and this stopover is the last one before the Water Gardens.

\- And what do _you_ say?

\- I thought you wanted to hear no more of me. And see no more.”

 

He arched an eyebrow with as much arrogance as genuine interrogation. She frowned. _This…_ She refrained from insulting him, even mentally. She knew she had crossed the line, and brought him with her on a slippery slope. There were some matters where they were simply irreconcilable, period. She could not forget the fact that the Martells had always, at least since their union with the Targaryens and their official joining to the Seven Kingdoms, supported them. After all, they did refuse to take side in the war that still raged, even after accepting to marry one of their princes to a Lannister.  _A Baratheon,_ she corrected herself.  _At least by name._

It meant that, sooner or later, Oberyn and the rest of his so sympathetic people would be foes, enemies of Stannis Baratheon and, as consequence, of her. She did survive Tywin and the Lions’ claws, only to find herself between a Viper’s fangs.  _Fantastic. Truly fantastic._

 

“Do not make me beg.

\- Very well, I see you are not in the mood for banter,” he let out with a satisfied smile. “We do not risk anything as long as we stay on this ship, but it means that no can recognize you.

\- You are locking me up in this cabin.” She scoffed, bitter. “I knew that it was too simple. It made no sense you did not try to hinder me as well.”

 

 _They are all the same._ Under the pretence of protection, of themselves or her, the lie was the same, she would have to spend her days locked in a dark and minuscule cabin, with her mind and doubts as her only friends – and the gods only knew how much she doubted. Oberyn was talented in making her doubt everything that seemed granted and certain, and she could not let him succeed. At least not more than he already did.

His face shifted, though, and he shook his head. He did not seem arrogant, or a tad less. He just seemed sorry, sincerely sorry. Aware of the situation. On guard, she did not let herself soften and kept still, arms crossed on her chest.

 

“I am not trying to lock you up, I am…

\- Protecting me? Protecting yourself? It is what my father told Robert’s bastards. It is what Ned Stark told his daughters when he tried to send them back to Winterfell. It is probably what Lord Bolton is currently telling Lady Sansa,” she retorted with a voice way less assured than she hoped. “Except that it always ends badly.

\- No one can lock you up. You would run away from the tightest bars and the toughest gaolers. You already proved that.”

 

His voice had softened. Wary, she did not move, did not relax. He looked away from the porthole and paced the room. She only realized he looked exhausted as this point. It was not surprising, he had not slept that much since his fight with the Mountain. _And I am not sure he really slept after I ousted him from the cabin._

 

“Do not try to make me believe that I will not be a bantering token once in Dorne,” she groaned. “Your brother does not support Stannis Baratheon.

\- He does not support Tywin Lannister either.

\- No, not Tywin.” She smiled coldly. “But he does support the Targaryen girl. Does he not?”

 

Oberyn’s eyes darkened when she mentioned Daenerys. She was far away, she was still weak but she was there, always there, like a shadow looming over the kingdom. How much time before she found the courage to head to her native land and claim an already disputed title? And even if it were to happen later in time, and even if Stannis eventually won the throne, what would happen once her and her dragons would storm Westeros?

 _Another war. Other betrayals, deaths, tragedies galore._ It had been this way for millenaries and it would always be this way. And if there was one thing the prince of Dorne knew, it was that once this day come, his brother would stand for the dragons and not for whoever took the throne.

 

“Nothing is certain,” he eventually said. “He is opened to offers. Potentially to yours.

\- Your brother is not a buyer and I have nothing to sell. You said it yourself yesterday: I am a court schemer whose only talent is to bring fire and blood to the realm.” She scoffed again, even more sombrely. “Which is quite adequate, in a way.

\- Do not misquote me.

\- I am not. But worry not. I will stay here and wait for us to arrive in the Water Gardens, meekly. Just as I will let him send me back to the gallows.”

This time, she turned to the covered porthole. The conversation was over. Oberyn left without a word and left her alone. The ship moved again a few minutes after and she watched the coast vanishing. It was strange, this feeling to have made the worst and best choice possible. The prince of Dorne was a strong ally, a honour-inclined man that would not harm her so long as he found no reason to. But the prince of Dorne would soon find a reason to harm her, or at least, to let others harm her. Maybe his brother saved her, but perhaps the death he prevented was sweeter than the one that would befall her once back in King’s Landing.

These thoughts did not leave her and she only understood the day was over when she saw the moon outside. She also realized that she had not eaten in two days. She hesitated, but eventually considered that the night would shroud her from the crewmembers’ eyes. She left the cabin.

The sea win blew her hair and the cloak she had wrapped herself in as she walked to the ship’s bow. She sat on a pile of chests and lost herself in the admiration of the sky above her. It was full of more stars than she had ever seen in her life. They looked like silver drops on a black sheet. As her eyes followed a falling star, she could not help thinking that she never ventured so far from the court or the Vale on her own. Without guards, without an escort, without her father or anybody else. And as her eyes fell on the sea, she understood that incertitude was the feeling that tightened her throat, twisted her stomach. Something she only seldom felt in her life, and never to that degree.

 

“You should eat,” she heard behind her.

 

She saw a plate next to her, filed with a mix of fish and boiled vegetables. She raised her eyes on the bringer and nodded as thanks. Without a word, she started to eat. It was not really appealing, and it was not even very good, but she was hungry and the mix of it fulfilled her hunger. And it was hot, it was for the best on a ship where the wind was chilly. She kept her eyes on the horizon, trying to avoid the Dornishman’s eyes on her. He did not even try to hide his staring. _Things have changed since King’s Landing,_ she mused. She had played with fire, with him, without really fearing the burn. In other circumstances, she would have appreciated this chasing game. But in the circumstances she was living, this game scared her more than it should have.

 

“The first time I left Sunspear,” he eventually said. “Was for the Sandstone. I spent most of my childhood there as a ward. I did not see the Old Palace again until I came back from Essos.

\- What did you do for all these years?

\- I travelled with my mother and sister before I decided to go on my own. I spent a few years in the Citadel, a few others in Essos and the rest with the Second Sons.

\- The Second Sons?” she exclaimed, surprised. “What did you do with the Second Sons?

\- I batted around and kill a certain amount of people. I visited almost every brothel of Essos with them, actually.”

 

It was too dark for her to be certain, but she could swear he was smiling. She was not sure why he suddenly told her about her youth, but she did not stop him. If the man was so infamous, it was not only due to this fateful day where he supposedly poisoned the Lord of house Yronwood during a duel. It was also due to the mystery that surrounded him, all these dark rumours that implied that he shared beds with women and men alike, lived with snakes and spent his days extracting their venom. Those rumours were the full sum of what she knew about him before actually meeting him, and she never knew where the truth stopped and where the lies began. Until this day, she never really wondered who the Red Viper really was.

 

“I have come to know many men and many women. Many stupid people, many smart people, many people who thought themselves irreplaceable and ended up six feet under without anyone to care,” he continued. “But very few had your ambition and even fewer had your cunning and determination.

\- Are you saying that because I threatened you?

\- I say that because you have not jumped from the ship yet, in every meaning of the phrase. You were reduced to silence by your father, by Eddard Stark, by Tywin Lannister and still you stand. And I do not understand how.”

 

 _If only I knew._ Shara asked herself many questions, but few of them regarding herself. She never really wondered why she made one choice and not the others. She did not know why she had not given up once up against it, why she did not simply accept the rules and played according to them.

She stood up and walked to the railing. She did not have an answer to Oberyn’s unspoken question. All she knew was that she was there, and would be until she had no other choice than to step down.

 

“You are a curious man,” she finally said. “One day I am a parvenu, the other you admire me?

\- And you are a startling woman, Shara. I will not deny it.

\- Do you not think that the world is too vast for things to remain unchanged?” She turned her head to him. He slowly walked closer. “For the kings to remain kings, for the poors to remain poor and for nothing to ever change?

\- I do, of course.

\- I think this is why I am still standing. I feel a change in the wind and I will not abandon the ship before it turns.”

 

It was a beautiful way to answer, though she was not sure herself that it was true. But it ringed true to her ear. He kept quiet for a while before nodding, as if he grasped the full meaning of her words. She smiled. She still hated this man, just like she hated Tywin. Just not in the same way, though.

Oberyn was odious in many ways, but he was also everything that could attract a woman like her. He was brilliant, charming, he had travelled and knew the ways of the world. He knew who he was and what he wanted – he knew how to take what he wished for. She hated him for his way of saying truth she did not want to see and for his tendency to hit every chink in her armour. Still, those things were the exact reasons she was there, trusted him and did not return to her cabin. This man was dangerous and dangerously attracting, and even her cold mind had to accept it.

 

“How can you know the wind will blow your way?

\- I cannot. The wind cannot be controlled. All I can do is to make sure my ship will resist the storms.

\- You went through many of them already,” Oberyn noted. “Are you not tired to rebuild again and again?

\- I am not seating on a throne, am I? Then no, I am not tired.”

 

She laughed softly, soon met by Oberyn. In the deep silence of the night, their laughs filled the space that surrounded them. She felt his sleeve against hers and knew that he was looking at the same thing as her. The void in front of them.

Until he turned to her. She turned her head and searched for his eyes in the black vastness around them. She guessed them where the lanterns around found their reflection and sustained them, not knowing if he could see hers.

 

“So it is a throne you are seeking?

\- Oh I know not,” she retorted with a crooked smile. “You were the one to speak of thrones. I am only quoting you.

\- Stannis Baratheon could give you one. His wife would just need to die.” There was a silence. “But it would be formidable waste.

\- Would I be such a sorry queen?

\- No, you would be too beautiful of a queen for a king like him.”

 

She was going to reply when she felt a hand resting on her waist and pulling her. The hand that pulled her against him. Surprised by how fast he was, she did not resist. She did not resist either when he pressed her against him, and did not resist any more when he pressed his lips against hers. At first frozen and startled, she did not react to the kiss. Her mind, so clear a few seconds before, had now darkened and her head was spinning.

Probably less lost than her, Oberyn insisted and, this time, she responded to his eagerness and slipped one of her arm on his back, in the middle of the dark embroideries of his coat. His lips were warm and his kiss tasted of alcohol. His hands were getting insistent under her cloak. But she was dizzy and she barely remembered who she was; all she knew was that she had to keep the man who kissed her close.

 

“Did Tywin Lannister neglect you so bad,” he let out between two kisses. “That now you crave warmth? I thought I did not have the right to touch you.

\- Tywin Lannister was jealous of you.” She talked too much, way too much, but she _had to keep him close._ “You are the only reason why he consummated our marriage.

\- The bastard made sure to use every each of his rights on you. I cannot blame him.”

 

She heard a laugh near her ear and felt her dress lifting. The feeling was not unknown to her, much like the touch of masculine hands on her skin, but she shivered more than she should have. A part of her wanted to convince itself that it was only because of the cold win that blew on the deck. Another one, more realistic, knew that it was because her whole being reacted to Oberyn Martell’s touch. _Oberyn Martell._

Even when she regained control over her own moves, she could not help responding to his kisses and caresses of his hands on her thighs, on her partially uncovered chest since he had pulled her corset’s laces. _I am turning mad._ But it was such a sweet madness.

 

“Did he touch you like this?” he asked, slipping his hand inside her thighs, igniting another wave of fire in her lower abdomen. “Did he manage to make the cold Shara Arryn moan?”

 

She did not reply anything because he was not expecting any answer, and because she had none. His voice was raspy and his breath on her neck was burning and it was all that mattered. She refrained from gasping when he lifted and rested her against the chest she was seating on before he arrived, skirts lifted and bodice half torn. _I cannot do that, not with him,_ her mind yelled. But it was silenced by her turmoil and, for once, she had no desire to do anything about it.

The hand on her thigh slowly went up, so desperately slowly that it took all the will in the world for her not to let out the moan he was expecting. She still hated him, but it did not change anything: she could hate him and want him at the same time. She could admire and hate, hate and love. _But I do not love him._ No, she did not.

He was rummaging in his own clothes when they both heard a voice from the other side of the ship calling _Lord Oberyn._ She almost jumped and, torn from the torpor she was wallowing in, she felt like waking up. As a rubber band pulled for too long, the sharp understanding of what was going on returned with her sense of reality. She grew pale and immediately stood up, gathering skirts, bodice and cape to hide her untied dress. Standing in front of her, Oberyn looked like he was struggling with the urge to throw the oncoming captain overboard.

She gulped when their eyes met under the cloak of the semi-darkness around them, and blushed. _Thank the gods it is night time._ Her hair, tousled by the hands of the man who could have been her lover, was getting worse and worse with the cold wind and she hardly managed to keep her clothes in place. She stood up, and as the captain got closer, she walked away to go to the cabin. A powerful arm caught hers and drew her against the broad torso she was holding onto a few seconds before.

 

“It is only a matter of time, my Lady,” the prince of Dorne whispered in an even raspier voice. “I shall not leave the privilege of your body to Tywin Lannister alone.

\- A matter of time.” She smiled. “You are still not allowed to enter my cabin.”

 

She parted with him with a chuckle and left. She only had enough time to catch his eyes’ shine before the torch’s light was too weak for her to see Oberyn Martell’s face. When she reached her cabin’s door, she could only see his broad figure nearby a skinnier one – the captain’s.

She entered and ran a hand across her face. Oh, she did not feel guilt. She was not even really embarrassed. She desired him, she could not deny it – but it was over. It had been a whim. He was very skilled to woo women, that was all. He never hid his intentions, and her lawful husband had every reason to feel cut to the quick. _Still, I do not want the last hands to touch me to be Tywin Lannister’s._ But it was already not the case anymore.

When she lied on her bed, her head still filled with what could have been – should have been, she shook her head and sighed. She could try to convince herself, but the truth was that she felt drawn to Oberyn Martell. And he was right, as he only too often was lately. It was only a matter of time because he decided to stir the fire he had started in her.


	19. The Grand Game

She did not really try to avoid him, but not crossing Oberyn’s path was not that hard. He did not try to break into her cabin regardless of her instructions, and she had no idea where he actually slept. _Probably with the crew,_ she thought. Or with the captain.

The fact remains that the journey continued. Slowly, but it continued. She had no other occupations than going through the few books on navigation she found on the cabin’s shelves and, once the captain offered her one filled with completely blank pages – _a poor gift,_ he had told her while giving it, she kept a log book. She never really kept one, she only notated her own books to figure the progresses and retreats of the different factions, back when she still possessed them. _I suppose Tywin got rid of them._ Her heart tightened at the thought, but it was but a meagre sacrifice, right? After all she did and all she accepted, she could survive some burned books. 

The truth was that it was not really the books, or the lives she had ruined in her escape, that she really regretted. She regretted Celestial, her father’s sword, still in Tywin Lannister’s claws. Were she placed in his position that she would have had the sword melted to make another one, and she would have worn it at her side hoping to be able to drench it with the blood of the traitor. _Me._ But after all, losing her family’s weapon was just another proof that she was not her father, and would never be.

And so time passed as the Dornish coasts grew closer and closer. She would have appreciated to be able to talk with the crew, to inquire about the small villages she noticed, but most of the sailors barely dared to look at her when she walked out of the cabin. Those who talked to her only muttered pleasantries, respectful words and grovelling. She regretted this situation, though she did not know whether it was the way she behaved that owed her so much subservience, or if it was something Oberyn said about her. _Maybe they are just not so sure they can trust me, given the latest developments._ She had to get used to it.

She was trying to comb her tangled and salt and wind-dried hair when she heard knocking on her door. She turned her head when Oberyn opened it. He looked around and his eyes stopped on her with an amused smile. She waited for him to say why he was there but he simply watched her detangle the many knots in her hair. She frowned.

 

“Are you going to tell me why you are here, or are you going to help me comb my hair?

\- You just need to ask.” His smile grew even larger. “I have eight daughters, I know my share of hair problems.

\- If I ever need your advice, I shall not hesitate. But you did not answer my question.

\- We are berthing in the Water Gardens tonight. I figured you would want to know.”

 

 _Already? At last?_ She was not certain how to describe how it made her feel that they were reaching their goal. The journey had been as long as it had been short and she just as relieved as she was scared – she had no idea how she felt at all. She glanced at him in the tiny mirror hanging from the porthole in front of her, and grabbed the comb she had put on the table underneath.

Her skin looked slightly darker, though she did not know if it was the little light of the cabin or if she really had tanned. Her blond hair looked even fairer, next to her slightly less fair skin. _What do women say in King’s Landing? Only harlots tan?_ Too bad, then. She kept quiet and finished her combing before turning to Oberyn.

 

“You did not come for that only, did you?” She tied her braid and sustained his gaze. “The captain could have told me.

\- Apparently one needs a very good reason to see you, lately. So I make the most of this one,” he retorted while placing a pile of clothes on the table. “You will be far too hot with the clothes you wear.

\- You are giving me a dress?

\- Do not take that too personally. I did not bring you all the way down here to watch you boil.”

 

She shrugged, looking mostly indifferent. She stood up and unfolded the dress. She would have blushed, if not for what happened on the deck. It was a Dornish dress, more precisely a Martell dress, and it was only made of large net fabric, folded on each other to create what resembled a dress. The lightest gust of wind would soon reveal everything this bunch of gauze pretended to hide, though.

But she could not help smiling when she realized that it was shades of blue, of more vibrant blues than she ever worse back when she was still free to choose what she could wear. It was not an Arryn blue, but it was neither red nor gold or black, and it was a lot already. She nodded to herself. She was glad she could wear something else than the now worn-out dress she was wearing ever since King’s Landing, for lack of anything else to wear. She had found an old shirt she used as a nightgown, but she could no longer stand the pile of rough and salty rags her old dress had become. _From an extreme to the other, I suppose._

 

“Thank you,” she simply said. She was not going to show her pleasure – it would please him too much. “So you did prepare clothes for me before we left?

\- I always have woman clothes with me. They could have been of use sooner, if the captain had not interrupted us.

\- How sagacious of you.” She arched a brow. “On that note, did you get any news from the continent?

\- In case you did not notice, we are on a ship. Crows do not stop on ships.”

 

She let out an infuriated sigh, and it seemed to intensely amuse him. She spread the dress on the bed and returned to face him. Given the size of the room, it meant staring at him straight in the eyes from a few inches at most. He looked her up and down. _As you would gauge a beast._ Or a woman, it was Oberyn Martell after all.

He returned to a more neutral and serious look, though, and sighed too as if the turn the conversation was going to take did not really please him. It did not exactly reassure her.

 

“You will not meet my brother tonight,” he continued. “It would be better for you to wait for him to summon you.

\- Were you expecting me to impose?

\- Of course not. I was expecting you to somehow manage to turn this rather disastrous situation to your… Well, advantage.” His eyes were shiny. “After all, you did seduce Tywin Lannister.

\- No one seduces Tywin Lannister, my prince.

\- No one but you, quite evidently.”

 

She rolled her eyes and gestured the door behind her. He scoffed and left, more disciplined than she had imagined. But she was not really surprised to see him obey her orders either – if he really wanted to stay, he would have and found a way to make her talk about her beloved husband. _Better for him to leave, really._ She watched him doing so until the door closed again, and sighed. Relieved. Tired. Anxious. Impatient. A mass of opposite emotions she felt lost in, as if in a maze. And her mind was _not_ used to so many emotions at once, as it was not used to the idea of not controlling anything and being at someone’s decisions’ mercy.

 _Keep yourself busy. Tonight is not so far away._ Maybe she would not see Doran today, but she had to look decent. She tried her best keep disciplined the small strands of hair that escaped her braid, ran water on her face hoping to get rid of the sun’s redness on her face… With no result. She had no cosmetics, no rouge, nothing to fix her skin, so she turned her attention to the dress.

Putting it on was no mean feat. Stuck in the few square feet of the cabin, she only managed to slip inside with a lot of contortions. Finding out how the multiples ties of the dress were supposed to be knotted turned out to be even more complicated. The dresses she usually wore were not exactly less complex, but they were _made_ simply: they were… Dresses, cut in a single piece of fabric, put one on the other on a corset, the last piece being the overcoat. But she never was alone to put them on and she was used to them.

She thanked the gods Oberyn did not stay to watch her getting mired down in the gauzes and only after long efforts and a lot a patience did she manage to reach the expected result; a dress way too light for a Lady of the Vale, way too suggestive for Jon Arryn’s daughter, way too Dornish for a King’s Landing girl… But she liked it. It flattered her figure and highlighted her charms. _The capital’s dress highlighted them as well, anyway._ Not Tywin’s, but she always found a way. She admired herself for a while in her small mirror before she saw the dock approaching through the window.

When she stepped outside, she was surprised to feel that the strong wind that accompanied them for the whole journey had subsided. It was hot outside, very hot, but the ocean spray and the sea air made the atmosphere breathable and almost pleasing. The most beautiful thing was the scenery. She had seen a lot of sunsets on the sea since they left, since she always made sure to be on the deck to admire them, and she had seen a lot of incredible palaces, the Eyries being the most incredible, but what she saw at this moment…

The pink marble of the Water Gardens’ palace’s alleys reflected the red and pink light of the dying sun, and all the waters from every fountain created a pictures of shades and shine that left her speechless. Even if the palace looked mostly classic and minimalist from what she could see of it, the gardens, pools, ponds, alleys, flowers, the sea and the tiny docks gave the place an almost divine atmosphere. _If the gods live somewhere, it must look like this._ Rested against the rail, she was watching the pontoons getting closer and closer without noticing Oberyn nearby. He was staring at her in silence, and waited for the crew to be busy to come to her, his arms crossed on his chest.

 

“Have we found the only way to leave Shara Arryn speechless?

\- Do not presume of my silence,” she reported, not taking her eyes of the scenery. “I was just admiring your palace.

\- It is my brother’s favourite. It is probably going to be yours as well, Sunspear is far more… Hostile to the foreigners.

\- You never saw the Eyries.” She eventually turned her head to him. “And you never saw it in the middle of a storm.

\- I have never been invited.”

 

He shrugged. She scoffed. If her father had appreciated Doran Martell enough to spend weeks trying to convince him no to unleash his armies against King’s Landing to avenge his sister and nephews, he did not go as far as inviting his monstrous brother to his beloved Eyries. _That could have been… Interesting,_ she mused while looking at him.

He had changed his outfit as well, and was now wearing the same kind of clothes he wore in King’s Landing, those shimmering tunics made of golden fabrics and embroidered with gold and silver. She raised an eyebrow and smiled.

 

“I thought you only wore that to have everyone talking in the capital.

\- Hmm? Oh, it was part of the point. Believe me, Dorne is only bearable when you wear as little clothe as possible.

\- I believe you,” she let out, ignoring the innuendo. “Maybe I shall reconsider my position on Dorne.

\- Did you think we were savages?

\- Amongst other things.”

 

They both giggled, with an honesty that surprised her. The palace’s sight, the air freshness and Oberyn’s cheerfulness reassured her – though she did not really understand why, the situation was neither different nor better than an hour before. She checked her braid to make sure it was correctly tied and, when the captain hailed her, she went down on the pontoon. She took a deep breath and followed Oberyn when he headed to a young man awaiting them near the gardens.

The two men hugged each other quickly and exchanged a few words before he gestured her to get closer. The boy was middle-sized, not especially handsome with his large nose and his imposing jaw, but his appearance was generally harmonious. He did not smile, far from that, and stared at her with mistrust. _One of Doran’s sons?_ She cautiously and lightly bowed before him. He stiffly nodded.

 

“Quentyn, allow me to introduce Lady Shara Arryn,” Oberyn declared. _His son, exactly._ “Lady Shara, this is my nephew, Quentyn Martell.

\- I am honoured to meet you, my prince.

\- As I am, Lady…” He frowned. “Lannister, not Arryn, if I am not mistaken.

\- Here, Quentyn, enough frown. We have made a far too long journey for you to look so stern.”

 

If Oberyn’s ton was one of banter, she had not missed his nephew’s barely veiled undertones. Quentyn Martell was not Dorne’s heir – it was Arianne, his older sister, but he remained a prince and his opinion mattered. And she was quite certain it was the general opinion of his House he voiced. The boy looked rightful, honest to a fault, the kind to accept anything he would consider part of his duty. _All things considered, he is quite different from the image I had of House Martell._

His eyes did not leave her for a while, and he did not look away from his black eyes, the reflection of his uncle’s. He eventually nodded, though she had no idea if he had found what he was looking for, and started to walk to the palace. She follow Oberyn and stayed a step behind the two men.

 

“My father does not approve this… Expedition of yours,” Quentyn continued. “He wishes to see you, uncle. Tonight.

\- I was not planning on sparing him my presence anyway. Is Lady Shara summoned as well?

\- My father does not wish to meet her tonight, no.

\- Please, let the prince your father know,” she intervened in her most obliging voice. “That I am at his entire disposal.”

 

She guessed she had won a few good point when he darted her a look from above his shoulder. _He likes respect and meekness,_ she noted. She was not really sure how she had to behave with Oberyn, but she would soon find out. _Being naked in front of him would do, though._ She brushed away the thought as they headed inside a large gallery overlooking the inner garden. The darkness around did not allow her to enjoy the full beauty of the place, but she imagined it only too well. She would have loved to linger there, but Oberyn motioned her to follow.

They entered a large and entirely white room, simply furnished with a bed and a few finely sculpted furniture. A maid bowed before them and waited for Oberyn sign to stand up and return to her seat, near a small wrought iron dressing table.

 

“These are your apartments, my Lady,” the prince declared. “If you need anything, let Lena, your maid, know.

\- Thank you, my prince.

\- You will thank my father when you meet him.” He did not try to hide his distrust for her. “He shall have you sought when he wishes.”

 

He did not add anything and she bowed deeply, deeper than she should have in front of the second son of a Lord, even called prince. He left the room with a nod. Oberyn stayed in the room and looked around, as if searching for something. She did the same, but paced it as well. The windows had no glass inside, the curtains flied around gently with the cool wind and the heat was bearable. She understood why this place was prince Doran’s favourite: this palace was idyllic already, and even more so in broad daylight.

 

“Do not pay too much attention to Quentyn,” Oberyn sighed. “He acts like this with everyone. That being said, well played, you almost won him over.

\- I am aware I am not welcome here.

\- You are, more than you imagine. You only saw one of my brother’s children, and none of my daughters.” He smiled, as if reacting to an unsaid joke. “You are full of promises, Lady Shara.

\- You have not called me ‘Lady’ since you offered me to run.”

 

She had not forgotten this detail; she just kept it for a calmer conversation. His smile turned into a semi-pout, as if he had hoped she would not mention it. _Sorry._ He sighed and grabbed a wine carafe placed on a small table, nearby two armchairs at the end of the bed, and filled two glasses. He handed one to her and rested against on the columns that surrounded the window. He dismissed the maid with a sway of his hand. She vanished in the gallery.

She sipped the wine and tilted her head. This man was so full of mysteries that she hardly knew if she was truly safe with him, or if he was actually an immeasurable threat. Part of herself considered him like an unmatched ally, the other like a hidden foe… And no less dangerous. With Tywin she constantly lived on the edge, and she knew that a word would either save her, or kill her. With him, she had no idea when she was in danger and when they were simply chatting. _Tywin did not chat._ Not with her anyway.

 

“You know, I often forget that I am twice as old as you and that you could very well be my daughter,” he chuckled. “Actually, three of my daughters are older than you are.

\- And it gives you the right to call me by my name, a thing that my own father never did?

\- You father eventually came to believe he was not called Jon but Lord Hand Jon of House Arryn of the Vale. You can call me Oberyn, it would not bother me in any way.

\- Your lack of interest in etiquette does not interest me.”

 

He did not react. It was not what he was hinting at. She crossed her arms on her chest as well, feeling the wind lifting what was supposed to be her skirt, but Oberyn’s eyes did not leave her. _It must be the first time my eyes interest him more than my breasts,_ she vaguely mused. Despite his smile, he looked serious, more than he usually did when they talked.

 

“You are not offended. If you really were, you would not have waited so long before mentioning it.” He made a few steps to her room’s door. “My familiarity does not hurt you because you know you have no right to feel hurt.

\- Do not imagine I owe you an everlasting gratitude.

\- From Shara Arryn, that would be wishful thinking,” he smiled. “Do not forget who you are, because no one will within these walls.

\- No one will forget I am Shara Arryn, or no one will forget I am Shara Lannister?

\- No one will forget you are a girl of twenty. Especially not my brother.

\- No one but you, evidently.”

 

She smiled, trying to mimic the remark he had made in the ship a few hours earlier. He stopped by the door’s frame and shook his head, lowly chuckling. He turned his head in her direction one last time. She could not see his face, or his eyes. She only knew he was looking at her by the weight she felt. His gaze’s.

 

“Not everyone see what I see in you, Shara,” he said, his voice barely audible. “At least not yet.”

 

She did not reply and watched him leave. She gulped, more troubled than she wished, and looked away. The maid returned and offered her to get herself ready to sleep. She did not say no – she was exhausted. The bed under her eyes reminded her she had spent long and sleepless nights on a bunk for far too long. _Never again._

She undressed, and dressed again, and slipped inside the fresh and clean sheets she was offered. Though she still had no idea what she was stepping into, and though she had no idea if the scheme she had fomented before she left had worked, she sunk into a deep and heavy sleep before remembering that she would not be safe in Dorne until Doran Martell would be won over. _Tomorrow…_

 


	20. Princesses in Ivory Towers

Once awoken the next morning, she expected her maid to help put on the dress Oberyn had given her. She realized it was sheer nonsense to even think she would when she saw the rather impressive amount of dresses her maid showed her in the closet next to the dressing tables. They were of every colour and every form and, contrary to what her travelling companion had implied, Dornish clothes were not all immodest – there were pretty decent clothes amongst the veils. She had not went so far south to cover herself up to the chin, though, so she chose a simple yet beautiful dress made of sky blue fabric – her colour. She hesitated with a bronze dress, the Martell’s colour, but the ploy was too obvious.

Getting her hair combed was a true pleasure after so much time spent with it tied. She asked her maid to let it as free and simple as possible, so she simply braided a few strands to make some sort of a crown on her head and let the rest of hair flow on her shoulders. She was not used to this degree of freedom, but she appreciated the look of it. _I look like a true Lady of the Vale,_ she noticed. _Much less like a Lady of King’s Landing._ It was not a bad thing, all things considered.

She was barely done when she heard knocking on her door. Expecting one of Doran’s squires, she did not stand until she noticed a small young woman, barely older than her, enter at the squire stead. Surprised, she saw her maid bow deeply before the girl and deduced that this voluptuous woman was princess Arianne. She immediately bowed as well, and barely noticed her maid quickly leaving.

 

“Lady Shara,” the young woman declared. Her accent, heavy, was stronger than her brother or Oberyn’s. “Why such ceremonies between us?

\- I know not Dorne’s etiquette, Princess.

\- Nobody does, especially not the Dornish.”

 

She burst out into a crystalline and hearty laugh before seating on one of the armchairs. Shara followed her, and sat when she was asked to. The princess was beautiful, but she was really more charming and seductive than she was beautiful. Her smile was bright, her curves pleasing and her eyes shone with curiosity. Her good word let her think she was at least as witty as her uncle, or that she knew how to mimic him. There was much of him, in her face. The Martells all looked the same to her, though, so it was hardly an useful observation.

 

“Was your journey good, Shara?

\- Excellent.” She did not feel offended by the familiarity – the princess was not really pursuing subtlety and heraldry. “I must thank you for your welcome. And hospitality.

\- You will thank my father when you meet him. My uncle managed to… Calm his passions regarding you.

\- His passions?

\- My father’s.” Her eyes shone even brighter, with amusement. “As for Oberyn’s… I fear no one but you can really ease them.”

 

Shara smiled. She was not use to the Dornish outspokenness – even Oberyn seemed to dull his own with her. This young woman seemed not to care too much about propriety and she was almost certain she acted like this on purpose. What could be more amusing than startling the Hand’s wife? She decided not to fall into her trap, and played along. _With the brother, respect is called for. With her, irreverence._ She had to be careful not to exaggerate. Her pride could be just as easily hurt as hers.

 

“Why would I do such a thing?” she retorted with a crooked smile. “It is much more fun to watch him smoulder.

\- My Lady, you are preaching a converted.” The princess looked surprised. Pleasantly, though. “What is your opinion of Dorne, so far?

\- Superbly scorching. And way more civilized than I thought.”

 

Arianne giggled. _Touché,_ she mused, satisfied. She functioned a lot like her uncle, and it reassured her a bit. She joined her in a laugh and looked around them. As she expected, everything was even more beautiful in broad daylight. The little she could see from the garden was plain idyllic and looked like nothing she had ever seen before. She would have loved to saunter in them, and enjoy the coolness of the fountains and pools. The princess seemed to notice her interest once she was done laughing.

 

“Forgive me, it has been years since I met a foreigner as honest as you are,” she said. “You are very different from what I thought.

\- Then we were misled on one another.

\- Oh, I do not mind, really. I like to be surprised.” She tilted her head, charmingly, and gestured the door. “Would you like me to show you the palace?”

 

She nodded. Getting used to the Dornish people was no easy task, but she had done worse things than joking and throwing respectful pleasantries around. She was used to model herself according to whom she was talking with, though most of those she talked with were made the same, Tywin excluded. _Well, not really. I just had to go even further with him._ More respect, more precautions, more innuendos and more patience. More results, too. If she had been prouder than she already was, and more reckless as well, she would have bragged about her manipulation scheme. But to this day, she was not so sure he did not let her go to catch her again later. _As a cat would play with a mice._ Or a lion with a pesky bird.

When she turned her head to Arianne, she saw that her look had dramatically changed. The relative gentleness of her face had vanished, replaced by cold determination. _We are done joking,_ Shara guessed. She followed her through the alleys and she did not have to pretend; she was fascinated. There was water everywhere, water and life. Young kids were bathing in the fountains, children of both house Martell and their servants, and it all echoed a happiness she had only seldom seen in a lordly castle. She was brought back to reality by Arianne’s voice.

 

“Do you know how the Dornish system of inheritance works?

\- The eldest child is the heir of the house,” she cautiously replied. “Regardless of their sex.

\- It must seem strange to you.

\- I took control of the Vale after my father’s death. If not officially, then at least informally. It seems like a sound rule, as long as the eldest child has the necessary qualities.

\- Then we share the same opinion.” The princess turned to her. “I am Dorne’s heiress and I intend to remain so.”

 

Shara kept quiet. She had troubles guessing what Arianne was hinting at. She had no hold over her father’s decisions – she hardly imagined how she could have any, in the current situation. Unless… _Unless she is trying to offer me something?_ She refrained from frowning. Then again, she had nothing to offer her. She did not hold Dorne’s reins yet.

Whatever it was, she stayed on edge and abandoned her seemingly light attitude for a colder one, closer to how she really felt and how she behaved usually. The princess noticed the change, but did not comment it.

 

“You seem to have all the necessary qualities.

\- My father would disagree,” she regretted. “I intend to prove him my worth. Once it is done, he probably will be more incline to hear me out.

\- And this is where I step in.” She smiled without warmth. “Play your ace, Arianne.

\- There she is.” Her eyes were now furiously gleaming. “The Shara Arryn I was waiting for.”

 

 _Oh, I see._ Why all the fuss, if she was trying to find the real her? They resumed their walk and went into a small maze of flowery hedges. The sound of water and childish laughter sounded more distant with every step they took into the labyrinth.

They reached a small kiosk made of wood, at the other side of a marble alley. Arianne sat on one of recliners covered with thick pillows, and sensually crossed her legs. _Does she really think she can seduce me?_ She refrained from laughing and sat in front of her. Her lack of reaction did not see to upset the young woman and she eventually smiled.

 

“My father wants to send you back to King’s Landing. He is hoping to prevent war.” She ran a hand through the heavy dark locks of her hair. “I do not think I need to tell you that my uncle is not pleased at all.

\- Are you?

\- We could be good friends, you and I.

\- There is no friends in war,” she smiled as well. “There are only those who betrayed you, and those who did not. Yet.

\- Then let us say that we may not betray each other. And I could make sure dear prince Doran changes his mind.”

 

She rested on the arm of her seat and stared at her straight in the eyes. Shara kept still. She had played this game longer than the princess had – or maybe not, but she played better anyway. Arianne seemed to imagine herself as a great strategist, but she let too many information slip. She was too clear on her intentions. It was a mistake, especially when talking with someone one does not know. _And she does not know me._

And so she wanted to impress her father and she already knew how. She needed her, otherwise she would not have gone to such lengths to charm her. _It must have something to do with King’s Landing._ It was the only thing he knew better than she did. That and the Vale, and she could hardly imagine what Arianne Martell would want with the Vale. She motioned her to continue.

 

“Thereunder Dorne’s law, eldest girl prevail over their younger siblings. We want to enforce this law on Westeros’ crown.” _No less._ “Myrcella Baratheon is Tommen’s older sister. She is the lawful queen.

\- Thereunder Dorne’s law,” she noted. “An independent and remote principality’s law. How would you convince the whole kingdom to crown Myrcella?

\- We just need to crown her. Then all those who refuse the Lannister’s yoke will join us.

\- All those who refuse the Lannister’s yoke do not wish for another Lannister on the throne.”

 

Her voice, cold, contrasted starkly with the princess’ charming voice. The hardness of her look contrasted with the everlasting smile on Arianne’s lips. She was not stupid; she simply did not look far enough from herself.

 _She does not care about the Iron Throne._ The only thing she wanted was to prove herself to her father, and deserve to take over from him. She could not blame her for that, she had the same wish until hers died. But she never put lives on the line to get approval – at least, not until lately. But it was different. She tilted her head while looking at the young woman. She was ready for anything. It was a good thing, but a dangerous one all the same, and Doran could not ignore that. She smiled, and Arianne interpreted that as agreement. It was none of that – only satisfaction. She just gave her exactly what she needed to win her father over; a nice plot to reveal him to get in his good books. _Right, Littlefinger?_

 

“How many people know about this scheme?

\- ‘Scheme’ is such a hideous word,” the beautiful princess sighed. “It is just a way to avenge my aunt and her children… And a way for you to get revenge for yourself.

\- You did not answer my question.

\- Seven, with you. Dorne’s finest knights, the princess and… You. You know King’s Landing better than anyone. Your help will be priceless once there.”

 

She did know King’s Landing better than anyone, except all its inhabitants, the royal family and the White Guard. Arianne did not need to know that, of course, as she did not need to know that seven people was not early enough for so big a scheme to succeed. She did not even know what she really wanted: steal a crown? Declare Myrcella queen of the Seven Kingdoms in Flea Bottom?

But it would be enough for Doran. She eventually nodded, as a fresh wind blew around, in their hair, dresses and ribbons. She was almost sad to not be able to simply enjoy the place without scheming, over and over again, against its rightful owners. _You will enjoy Dorne once safe._ As for Arianne… Well, she could only hope her father would be impressed enough by her treason attempt to consider her worthy of him. Were she in his shows, she would have considered her an imprudent young woman, at best in great need of political education. At worst, a proud and blind brat.

Somehow it saddened her. She could have found a true friend in Arianne, in other times. She had wits, she was smart and did not consider Dorne as an island but as a part of Westeros. She could have been a great relay between Stannis and Doran, once the war over. _In a world I would not need to lie my way out of this misery._

 

“I will help you gain your father’s respect,” she said, weighting each one of her words. “But there is one thing I need to know. Why is your father so scared of war?

\- He thinks Dorne is not powerful enough to resist it. But we vanquished the Dragons for centuries, and it is great time for us to avenge our people.

\- Princess Elia and her children.

\- Indeed. But you will be able to discuss my father’s lack of goodwill tonight.

\- Tonight?”

 

She raised an eyebrow. Arianna was Doran’s envoy, supposed to tell her she was expected. _Smart._ The princess nodded and called for a servant to ask for lunch. Shara was going to refuse when she insisted she preferred to have lunch in delightful company than alone. She stayed, and tasted the meals two kitchen girls brought them before vanishing in the palace’s corridors. They were spicy, spicier than anything she was used in King’s Landing, but finer and in smallest quantity. It was so hot that she would not have been able to eat more than a few bites, and it is exactly what she was given.

She talked with the princess on a barely lighter tone for the whole lunch. They exchanged feelings on almost every matter, from the capital to the Wall, from the Maesters to the crown. The closer it got to the court, the most Shara feared Arianne would mention her damned marriage. And it not take her long.

 

“You call yourself an Arryn,” she noted while beating in a peach, a wine glass in her hand. “But you are no longer an Arryn. You are a Lannister.

\- As much as a hostage can be a Lannister.

\- A hostage.” She gazed at her, thoughtful. “You do not seem too mistreated to me. You are too proud for someone thrown between a cell’s bars.

\- Not all cells are made of rusted irons and stone, princess.

\- Then Tywin Lannister is more merciful than we are told.”

 

Though it was not said as a reproach, this remark left Shara with a bitter feeling. She was not wrong: she hardly could play the poor little prisoner card. She had been treated well, better than well really. She had gradually recovered books she would have burned had she been in Tywin’s shoes, she had enjoyed enough freedom to be able to run away, she had not been brutalised and her husband actually spoke other things than orders. _But I have been humiliated,_ she mused. It was true, after all: free she was, but under the Lannister’s yoke and no one could doubt that until very recently. She had avowed this submission to the whole world at her wedding, before the late King Joffrey, before Tywin himself.

And yet these months of _captivity_ had been the most captivating of her existence as well. Her husband took her seriously, he _listened_ to her as he listened to his advisors, with contempt indeed, but still he listened. She had played with the realm as if it were a puppet… The only other time she felt this powerful was just before the battle of the Blackwater Bay, and then she fell. _Did I fall when I ran away?_ Would have she been more powerful had she stayed beside Tywin? In his shadow?

 

“I apologize, Shara, if this matter makes you feel ill at ease,” Arianne eventually said. She probably saw her eyes darkening. “I would never question what you lived.

\- Of course not. You simply want to know who is asking for your help, and it is only natural.

\- You escaped King’s Landing on a horse, hidden under a cape. Before that, you plotted to render the capital to Stannis Baratheon and you almost succeeded. I think that says a lot about you.

\- I _almost_  succeeded. That is the key word.”

 

The two women laughed, one more genuinely than the other. Shara was already preparing her negotiations with prince Doran and this distraction only added to her reserved look. She did not realize silence was lingering and the princess was staring at her. She was preparing her speeches, wondering whether it was a good idea to mention her scheme before or after Doran Martell’s outright refusal, whether she had to pretend to be some poor lost sheep or simply lay her cards on the table from the start. She did not know him well enough to be able to predict his reactions; all she knew came from her father. An extremely cautious man, craven to his detractors, thoughtful and especially smart. On many aspects, she imagined this distant Dornish man as another Jon Arryn, even more moderate in his decisions. Given how violent the one he made about her was, she had to reconsider her judgement: her father would have never sent someone back to King’s Landing if it meant condemning this person to death. _Although…_ She had never seen her father facing such a decision.

 

“You are a strange woman.

\- You are not the first to say that,” she retorted, almost giving tit for tat. Arianne had interrupted her line of thoughts. “Well, actually you are not even the first Martell to say that.

\- I know. Oberyn told me you are just as charming as you are cold.

\- Then you knew what to expect.” She tilted her head. “Then you lied to me.

\- I dare you to say you did not.”

 

 _Not yet,_ she almost replied, but this amount of honesty was not necessary. She simply chuckled and continued their conversation. She was no fool, and she ignored nothing of the princess’ strategy. She was mimicking her, memorizing the way she talked and was probably going to report it all either to her father or her uncle. Given the complicated relationship father and daughter seemed to have, she went for the latter, and could not help wondering how Oberyn would react to their ever so complex meeting. Quite a highly noble meeting it was – they were of similar rank and age and neither hid their pretentions and ambitions. _He will love that._ She was not so certain Doran would, though.

The afternoon passed and soon enough she was asked to go to the prince’s apartments. She stood up and quickly bowed before Arianne. She stopped her before she even had the time to bend. She put both of her hands on her shoulders and, in an almost tender gesture, hugged her warmly.

 

“Be careful with my father,” she whispered at her ear. “He may very well seem harmless, but he is just as dangerous as Oberyn.

\- Way more dangerous than Oberyn.” She smiled and stepped back. “The most obvious threat is not the one to be feared, but rather the one you cannot see coming. Greetings, princess.”

 

She felt Arianne’s eyes following her up to the corridors she entered and followed to the princely apartments. She almost stopped when she thought she noticed Oberyn, but she had to continue walking through alleys, galleries and antechambers until she reached Doran Nymeros Martell, ruling prince of Dorne.


	21. Maybe we Started this Fire

“Lady Shara Lannister,” he greeted her in a serene voice. “Née Arryn. I believe this detail matters a lot to you.

\- It does. I consider it important.

\- I consider it mostly secondary.”

 

He smiled – an impenetrable smile. She smiled too as all those who were in the room – a doctor, the prince’s personal guard and the squire who led her through the palace, left or walked away from them. As for Areo Hotah, never too far from the prince. He looked small, older than he should have been, fragile really. A cover hid his legs and feet so she could not see the scars left by the gout he suffered from. She could hardly ignore the wheelchair he was seating on, not more than she could ignore the thinness of his articulations: the man was as sick, if not more, as they all said.

But though his body was broken and feeble, his eyes and his voice were nothing of the sort; his eyes never left her, and his tone implied that he knew he was in a position of strength and would not let her imagine otherwise. She kept still until he asked her to sit nearby, near a large window that overlooked the fountains. They both lost themselves in their admiration for a while, before he eventually smiled again with an obvious caution.

 

“How do you find the Water Gardens, my Lady?

\- This palace is marvellous, my prince. More beautiful than most palaces I have ever visited.

\- Your father said the same thing a long time ago,” he said, nodding. “Do you know what I replied?

\- That you could not believe such compliment coming from the Lord of the Eyrie.”

 

She remembered this story. It was part of those her father told her to teach her how to talk in court, as if he already knew back then that it would be paramount to her survival. She also knew that their conversation had revolved around architecture for more than a hour before they actually talked about the dire reason why her father had gone to Dorne: Elia of Dorne and her children’s death. She did not really know how he managed to convince her own brother to abandon his ideas of war. He never accepted to tell her, as if the mere fact that he succeeded was demeaning. As if he believed Dorne should have, by all means, rebelled.

 

“Your father was a great man,” he continued. “A man of great reason. He would not have accepted the current state of the kingdom.

\- I fear reason does not govern men anymore.

\- That much is certain. So I wonder about you, my Lady. Reason does not govern you either, or you would not be here. Neither does honour, or you would have passed on.” His eyes started to gleam, just as his brother’s. “It cannot be ambition, or you would have stayed beside your husband. Then tell me, Lady Shara, because I do not seem to understand, what governs you?”

 

She laughed bitterly. Every man she met seemed to know everything about her motivations when even she did not know much about them. She kept quiet for a while, searching for a credible answer, one that would please him enough for him to let it pass. _Easier said than done._ He was right: nothing seemed to govern her, except a fierce desire to survive and to matter in the Seven Kingdom’s exchequer, away from Tywin.

Then what? Was it just selfishness? She would not be supporting Stannis if it were only selfishness. Madness? She was still alive, and she would not if it was just madness. It was not love, was not nobility. It was not a dream of a better world, or fear of eternal damnation. It was not patriotism, nor anti-patriotism. _Then what?_ What was she going to say to Doran Martell?

 

“Oberyn spoke a lot about you,” he continued before she even had the time to answer. “He says you are a woman of few words, which does not surprise me given your ancestry.

\- You have this reputation as well, your highness. Words are like arrows. Once loosed, you cannot call them back.

\- I see you know more about my personal philosophy than you say.” He smiled again. “I asked him the same question. I asked him what drove you, according to him. It took him a long time to answer, but do you know what he said?

\- I am afraid I do not.

\- He said you were seeking acknowledgement everywhere it could be.”

 

She felt her pride bridling at the idea of Oberyn considering her an attention-thirsty girl, but a part of her mind was rather satisfied with the affirmation. As if it recognized it as true, at least in a way. Had she not followed Stannis precisely because he considered her a worthy ally from the very beginning of the war? And had she not accepted her captivity because Tywin considered her as an actual foe, and not just as the stupid child the whole court saw in her? And had she not followed Oberyn without any real discussion because he took her seriously?

She lowered her eyes with a secretive smile, one she herself could not make sense of. Was that what she was, a child running after recognition? _Is that so ludicrous?_ Arianne’s reflection, without the clumsiness and the blind arrogance? She raised her eyes and tilted her head.

 

“What do you say about that, prince Doran?

\- I say that it would surprise me, were it true. You do not look like a woman seeking approval.

\- You said nothing about approval,” she noted. “I suppose it is reason that governs you to avoid war?

\- There is no honour in throwing yourself in a war you cannot win.” He slightly frowned, barely. “I know not what Oberyn promised you, but you will not find it here. Dorne is not at war.

 _\- Dorne is not at war._ ”

 

This time she scoffed. He frowned even more and waited for her to explain herself. Caution often went with extreme precaution, and it edged on stasis. As for Doran, he had already crossed this line – but that much was not surprising. She kept Arianne’s plan for later, to give herself at least the time to try to have him understand that he would not stay apart from the fight for long. As distant as it could be, Dorne was part of the kingdom and its people had done too much already.

 

“Do you figure Tywin Lannister will allow such an insult to last?

\- Insult you caused, my Lady.

\- I am not talking about myself,” she intervened. “That would be most presumptuous. Even without my intervention, Dorne would already be on the brink of war. Your brother defied Tywin Lannister before the whole court and humbled him before running away, though he was invited to a hunt that was supposed to lead to his death. It is more than enough a reason to declare war, in King’s Landing.

\- He did not mention this hunt.” He looked surprised. “Or did not see fit to mention it.”

 

 _Imbecile._ Oberyn may very well be an extraordinarily dangerous and unpredictable man, he was not nearly as sharp and smart as his brother if the idea of being invited to a royal hunt after savagely murdering the kingdom’s most powerful man’s henchman did not sound shady… Especially after the late King Robert the First’s death in the same conditions. She tilted her head with an amused smile.

 

“Obviously. What do you think would have happened during this hunt, if prince Oberyn had remained in the Crownlands? Do you think he would have killed an impressive boar, or do you think this boar would have killed him the way one of its fellows killed King Robert?

\- All speculations, nothing more.

\- I dare you to say that the idea would not have occurred to your mind as it occurred to mine. He was risking his life in King’s Landing, he simply did not know how exactly,” she said, resting on the back of her seat. “Dorne is at war already. You cannot deny that.

\- But I can put things right if I move our greatest problem away.”

_Me_. It was not hard to guess. Maybe she had managed to make a few of Doran’s certainties totter a bit; maybe she knew that _he knew_ she was right. Maybe indeed, but he did not change his mind. Not yet. It felt like the snare around her neck was getting tighter and tighter, and she felt like suffocating a little bit more every minute she spent with him.

She nodded when he offered refreshment. This conversation felt strange; he wanted to talk with her, to be agreeable, even as he was already certain of his decision. He could very well have refused to talk, and simply sent her back to King’s Landing in the first ship to leave – that would have been faster. And more efficient.

 

“With all due respect, my prince, why am I here? You appear determined to send me back to King’s Landing and nothing I can say seems to make any difference,” she said, grabbing the glass he handed her. “And yet I am still here, enjoying your wine and your fountains’ freshness.

\- I am no monster, Lady Shara. My brother… Let us say that you found a stubborn ally in Oberyn. He was threatening me to block the ship or the convoy that would bring you back if I refused to grant you a meeting.

\- Then I will have to thank him.

\- I wanted to talk to you anyway,” he continued, bantering. “I wanted to meet the woman who stood up to Tywin Lannister.”

 

She wondered for a second if that would be her legacy, _standing up to Tywin Lannister._ If she would be remembered this way, if it would be the last of her feat. Would she smile to her executioner? Would she make a last speech, her eyes closed and her head pushed on a chopping block? Maybe people in King’s Landing asked the same questions – at least the court, she doubted Flea Bottom’s inhabitants actually cared about her.

In other, less desperate circumstances, Shara would have tried to be more strategic and subtle. She would have abandoned the fight and vanished to come back later with plans and ideas, as she did with the Lord Hand. But she did not have this luxury; she would be put in a ship the next day if she failed. She would be sent to Casterly Rock the next week, and would not live more than a few days there before a terrible accident killed her. No, she did not have the luxury of time.

 

“I did stand up to Tywin Lannister. Do you think this was a war I thought I could win, when I decided to wage it?

\- Do not try to palaver me with my own philosophy, my Lady,” he warned her. “You and I do not think the same way.

\- I know that, my prince. But what you do know is that the days of peace are numbered already.” She took a deep breath. _You can do it. You have to do it._ “If it is not you who accept and embrace the war, then someone else will. Dorne will not remain neutral for long.

\- I am the prince of Dorne, no one will do anything without my approval.”

 

She slowly shook her head, preparing the release of her one and only weapon. She had to use it correctly; he would not believe her if she turned it overly dramatic, he would be offended if she turned it too crude. She could not throw Arianne to the wolves, but she could not spare her either.

 

“No one but your daughter, my prince. You possess one of the game of thrones’ master cards. Myrcella Baratheon, princess of Westeros, potential heiress… At least Arianne sees her this way.

\- Be careful, Lady Lannister,” Doran hissed, eyes now burning. “Do not mistake tolerance for permissiveness.

\- Perish the thought, your highness, but I beg you to listen. Your daughter wants to use princess Myrcella as a ploy to question the Lannister’s power.” She paused _dramatically_. “She is at the head of a conjuration aiming at crowning her queen by virtue of the Dornish law of inheritance. She _wants_ war, my prince. And she shall have it, if she has her way.”

 

The silence that followed was long, very long. Too long, way loo long. She maintained her eyes in the prince’s feverish look without wavering, because she knew that she had played her only card. And she did not know whether this card was in her favour, or in Doran’s. She had no proof; Arianne would deny if asked, and it would her word against hers. But what choice did she have? _I do not want to die,_ she thought, like a mantra. _I will not die._ She had too much left to do, too much left to see.

Her only comfort, the only thing that made it all a bit better, was to know that Oberyn had insisted so badly for his brother to meet her – it meant that he _knew_ she could change his mind, convince him to help instead of throwing her to Lions that would eventually devour her, voracious as they were. She kept still, proud, straight, waiting for any reaction from the prince.

 

“Why do you crave war so badly?” he eventually asked. “What is so appealing to you in the idea of causing hundreds of men and women’s death?

\- I do not like war, my prince. Not more than you, not more than my father in his days.” _Go ahead, take the lead. Go!_ “But when war became unavoidable, after Brandon and Rickard Stark’s death, there was no question of loving war or not, of wanting to win or not. You cannot avoid war simply by choosing to ignore it, and it is not because there is no war that there is peace.

\- You speak just like him. It is almost… Disturbing to hear.” He shook his head slowly. “Is it not ironic, this turn of fate? More than fifteen years ago, Jon Arryn came in this very palace to bring back my uncle’s remains and convince me not to wage a vengeful war. Now his daughter comes to convince me I have to wage it, and follow her rather than anyone else.”

 

He looked away and sighed deeply. For an instant, she almost saw the cracks in the prince’s veneer of confidence – for an instant, she thought she could win. Eyes lost in the admiration of the few kids left in the pools, he looked as if he was reviewing his entire life, his decisions, his regrets, everything that led to this very moment. _Do I really want to lead this man to war?_

Of course not. Of course she did not want this tortured man to break even more, to lose what remained of his family and endanger his bannermen. Who was she, to ask for so heavy a tribute? But no one ever asked for _her_ authorization; no one asked her if she wanted to be Jon Arryn’s daughter. Doran Martell’s decision would shape the entire kingdom, but it was his duty to take it. Not his brother’s, not his daughter’s, his, as it was Shara’s to try to convince him not to surrender her. No one ever said it was easy to survive in this world; no one ever said that the consequences of their choices would be easy.

 

“My brother wants war, my own daughter wants war, my people want war,” he sighed, his eyes still in the gardens. “Am I the only one to see where it will lead us all?

\- No, your highness. I see that too.

\- And yet here you are, stirring every dreams of revenge by your mere presence. It only takes a word from you for the entire kingdom to follow suit. Dorne will not survive another open war.

\- Then make sure it is never open. Princess Myrcella might be your daughter’s trump card, but she could be Dorne’s as well.”

 

He slowly turned his head to her. His face was peaceful again and he seemed serene, as serene as he was at the beginning of their conversation. Nothing indicated that he was more willing to listen, but at least the situation was not stuck anymore. If she offered a true alternative, maybe she would find a way out. She nodded when he started to reflect on what she just said, and waited for him to be done. He was not the kind of man to need the whole reasoning to understand, especially since he _had_ to have thought about that before her. He was too smart, too cautious not to have imagined that the young Myrcella could be a fantastic tool for protection.

 

“You want to make a human shield out of a child?

\- Let us cease to pretend we do not understand each other,” she let out point blank. “Otherwise you would have dismissed me already.

\- Very well, I will follow your line of thoughts. Do you figure the mere presence of Myrcella under our roof will be enough to dissuade Tywin Lannister from unleashing his army on us while we help you escape?

\- Only if he thinks you are not helping me.”

 

She had not imagined the conversation would go so far; she was thinking as fast as possible to find a plan, any plan to pad out. Doran rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, and his head on his scrawny fingers, visibly interested by her idea. Unless he was just pretending. He gestured her to continue, and so she did.

 

“Tell Tywin Lannister you are sending me back to King’s Landing as soon as a ship bound for the capital is leaving,” she continued, looking straight at him. “I will leave Dorne for White Harbour in another ship. No one no but you and those you deem worthy shall know. Then you will pretend I escape and diverted one of your ships.

\- He will know it to be untrue. He knows you.

\- Of course he will. But you have Myrcella. He will not attack Dorne directly if he has only suspicions and personal believes. Cersei will not let him.

\- You thought that remarkably through for someone who thought herself condemned.”

 

She did not say anything, she simply smiled. There was no use in denying; he was only half-wrong. She had imagined every possibility, both the plausible and the implausible ones, ever since she left the capital. It was one of the many plans she had imagined during her long journey to Dorne. He ran a hand on his carefully groomed beard, with the inscrutable look of someone who wishes to keep his thoughts secret. She kept quiet with the look of someone who, her dices thrown, was waiting for their result to know if she had won… Or lost. _Everything._

 

“You are a woman of great intelligence, this much is undeniable, and you know how to use it for your sake. I know not what Stannis Baratheon did to deserve your support,” he briefly smiled. “But he is lucky you are not working against his interests.

\- Only you can decide to have my support as well.

\- One does not take this kind of decision in one evening, even spent in such an interesting company. I would not wish to deprive Oberyn for you any further either.” He turned his head to the door where Areo was standing. “We shall see each other again very soon, my Lady.”

 

Understanding that the conversation was over, Shara stood up and deeply bowed before the prince of Dorne. He smiled again, gesturing her not to bow so low, and took her hand. His skin was smooth, tanned like old parchment, and his fingers were thinner than hers. She almost felt his old joints grating under his skin when he took her hand to his lips to kiss it. She smiled back. She had not won yet; he had not rolled his dices, nor calculated his chances. But she had managed to have him doubt his certainties, at least enough for the already-taken decision to be postponed. If Oberyn wanted her to live so badly, and if Arianne wanted Dorne to return to its powerful self, she still had a chance. _I need to speak with the dear Viper, by the way._

She was going to leave when she paused and looked at the prince. He tilted his head, as if wondering what she wanted from him. She motioned the door.

 

“As for your daughter’s plan… I think she wants your attention more than anything else. She cares very little for the iron throne.

\- My attention?

\- If Oberyn is to be trusted,” she smiled a bit more. “Then it takes one to know one. Do not judge her too harshly, my prince. Listen, and you shall see.”

 

She wished him a good night and left, almost surprised not to be followed by anyone except her own shadow. She stopped in the middle of the gallery and turned to go to the gardens. The kids were gone; the fountains’ water was now calm, barely troubled by the cool wind that blew in the alleys. For the first time since she had left the great Sept with the Hand of the king, she found herself sauntering again, just like she did before her father’s death. She sat on the edge of a pool and stayed there, secretly hoping to return to these gardens once it would be all over. _If only I still have a head on my shoulders._


	22. Momentum

She had asked not to be disturbed, and she was not. To her surprise, nothing prevented her from spending half of her night strolling around the palace, and most of her following morning going through the hundreds of books of the castle’s library. There were books she thought lost, and unique copies of books usually found in Oldtown’s Citadel. She read some of them quickly, spent more time on others, took notes on what she could and regretted she had so little time left in Dorne. _Maybe it is better if I do not stay there, all things considered._

She gave up on the books when the sun started to hit the windows and transformed it in a literal hothouse. She returned to her room and found a carafe filled with cold tea. She poured some in a glass and enjoyed the relative coolness of the rooms placed far from the scorching sun. When she closed her eyes, it almost felt like being the Eyrie again, back when she had nothing else to do than read and avoid her professors, as well as her insufferable step-mother and her stupid son.

She was so lost in her memories that she did not realize Oberyn had joined her. She only noticed him when he poured himself a glass, and sat in front of her. She raised an eyebrow and watched him doing so. He had put on an ochre and red tunic embroidered with small Martell’s sun made of what looked like a mix of copper and gold. He was clean-shaven, and it drastically contrasted from the beard he wore back on the ship. She was also wearing more sophisticated clothes and hair today: her maid was skilled, and she took pleasure in combing her hair in the most aesthetical and climate-adapted way. Today, she was wearing multiples braids in a sort of bun, while some of them simply fell on her shoulders.

 

“I do know this is your palace,” she said, sipping her tea. “But you usually knock.

\- I knocked. I took your lack of reaction for an invitation.

\- What a surprising concept of invitation you have.” She slightly frowned. “To what do I owe the pleasure?

\- I came to understand you managed to instil doubt in my brother’s mind. Bravo.”

 

 _As if you were not expecting it._ She nodded and put her glass away. To think she feared the Dornish would be up to their savage, brutal and bloodthirsty reputation. She had imagined herself unable to talk with them and there she was, seating in the middle of one of the most refined palaces of all Westeros, surrounded by the most precious books of the kingdom, under the rule of the smartest man she had ever come to meet, all of that thanks to none other than _Oberyn Martell_ , a man that no single word could describe.

She had to admit her opinion of him had slightly changed since she knew he had insisted for her to get an audience with her brother. He thought her capable of standing up to him and, even better, win him over and convince him not to sacrifice her to keep peace in Dorne. The idea unsettled her, as must as it seduced her – much like he did, really.

 

“Enough banter,” she let out. “I know you went out of your way to get me this audience.

\- So he told you. I did not think he would.

\- Why so?

\- Well, I know not.” He shrugged. “I suppose it is not so glorious to admit someone influenced you.

\- Unless the influence is a good one.”

 

She did not hide her smile. He did not either. The way he looked at her, she understood that he was surprised she was in such a good mood and did not try to insult him in any way. He rested on the back of his armchair and his smile grew crooked. His eyes started to shine with interest and he ran a hand on his jaw, thoughtful. And interested.

 

“This is it, then. I finally found how to pierce your walls, it just takes a little flattering.

\- Nonsense,” she retorted, cut to the quick. “I am simply…

\- Grateful? _Flattered_? Say it, no one will hear that but me.

\- I am simply _surprised_ you interceded in my favour.”

 

She did not hide her annoyance either, and it only made him smile even wider to watch her conceal her relative gratefulness. _At this rate, it is not going to last any longer,_ she groaned internally. He eventually shrugged and emptied his glass, as if he had no reason to give her. It sounded like him, but she could not help being suspicious. He had no reason to help her so much, at least none good enough to be so involved in her survival.

 

“I knew a hour with him would be enough for you to turn him. I am no disappointed to be right.

\- Why did you insist?

\- I did not go to such extremes to bring you with me, only to watch you return to King’s Landing,” he let out. “And I am not kin on letting Tywin win so easily.

\- So it is a matter of pride, then.

\- Everything is a matter of pride with you.”

 

He scoffed again. She rolled her eyes but could not help laughing again – he was right. A thousand of times right. _It is pleasing to be understood_ , she mused. Well, of course there were things he did not understand. Many of them, but she was used to be some sort of an enigma for the men around her, so it was a novelty to have one who understood quite well what she thought, did, and why she thought and did those things.

She decided to change the subject, aware of the slippery slope they were stepping on. No one told her what happened during the journey, so she had no idea if her plan had worked in the Vale and in the North. The information was paramount, given that she had told Doran she would go to White Harbour… And if White Harbour was still controlled by the Boltons, she was just as good there as she would be in King’s Landing. She tilted her head and continued.

 

“Neither your brother or your niece saw fit to inform me of what happened during our journey. Would you care?

\- _Would I care_? What did my brother do to Shara Arryn?

\- Answer my question, Oberyn, or my good mood is just as good as gone.

\- Aye, I prefer you like this. It feels more natural.” He smiled before continuing. “You will be pleased to know that all your plans have worked perfectly. Which one do you want to begin with?

\- Oh, please spare…” She quieted and sighed. “The North.

\- We do not have much detail, but Stannis Baratheon unveiled Roose Bolton’s treason. Sansa Stark condemned him to death, along with his bastard.”

 

 _Oh so now Sansa Stark condemns people to death._ She guessed it was rather a disguised order she received from Stannis, exactly as she used to receive orders from the Boltons and Tywin. She almost regretted the poor child had to act as his façade, but then again it would not last. The North would do whatever it wants of her once Westeros freed of the Lannisters.

She gestured him to continue, thing he only did after hailing the maid to bring him a wine carafe. He helped himself generously and asked for her glass, filled it, and returned it. She dipped her lips in it and had to recognize it was incredibly fine. Dornish wine was not so renowned for no reason.

 

“As for the Bay of Crabs’ ambush, it worked as well. Your men blocked the fleet in Wickenden’s harbour and mostly destroyed it. Lord Royce took numerous prisoners.

\- Do you know about Tywin Lannister’s reaction?

\- Communications between the capital and Dorne are not so efficient lately,” he smiled. “But it is safe to assume that he cannot be pleased.

\- Did you put your mind to reach such a complicated conclusion, or did your brother prompted you?”

 

This time she was the first to laugh. She was expecting him to look at least a bit offended, but he simply smiled while he drank his glass. Silence returned and she understood that her weak attempt to change the subject was doomed to fail. She pretended to be interested in a strand of her hair, escaped from the rest of her hairstyle, and then looked outside her room to look at the child running through the corridors. _I never saw so many children in one place,_ she mused. It was as if there were more kids than there were adults, almost as if the entire place was theirs.

 _I am stalling._ When she stopped pretending she was thinking of something else, she realized his eyes had not left her.

 

“You do it every well.

\- And what exactly are you talking about?

\- Pretending nothing happened.” He leaned to her and brushed away the strand she was playing with. “I did not forget.

\- I never said I did.

\- Then you are too cautious. And too cold for someone who found herself naked on a ship’s deck.”

 

She slightly frowned, but it was neither annoyance nor embarrassment. She remembered what she did. She did not try to pretend otherwise. Nor did he, though it was obvious enough. She was going to contradict him out of sheer pride when he stood up and drew her against him, in too little time for her to resist or push him away. In a second she found herself against him, her right wrist in the prince’s iron grip.

And the prince smiled, as if he had awaited this moment his whole life. _His whole life of barely a week,_ she thought. Just like on the ship’s deck, she felt her mind darkening gradually and welcomed the strange inebriation that came with it. She tilted her head, offering Oberyn a full view of her cleavage, and did not try to struggle against him… Even though a corner of her mind reminded her there was neither window nor actual door to her room, and that anyone could enter at any moment.

 

“So I did manage to push Oberyn Martell to the limit? I should be proud, so little women can say the same.

\- I must admit you are probably one of the most frustrating women I ever got to meet.

\- Frustrating?” She raised a brow. “Is that really how you seduce them all?

\- It makes you a very interesting woman, more than _them all_ , so do not complain.”

 

This time she was not surprised to see him dive for her lips. His kiss was hungrier than it had been on the ship and they both walked back near the bed. The sound of the glasses crushing on the ground tore her from her torpor and ended, if only for a second, their kiss. Wine was spread all over the pavement and the goblets had been shattered in their fall. She guessed they pushed the table a little too hard.

This involuntary interruption seemed to slow time down and they shared a heavy gaze. Heavy of meaning, and heavy of questions; what were they doing? It was bad, on every levels. On the kingdom’s level, she was unfaithful to her rightful husband; at Dorne’s, she was involving Doran and his family even deeper into the war; on hers, she was stepping on a slippery slope she was not certain she could ever escape or control.

 

“If I am interesting because I am frustrating,” she whispered. “Maybe I should remain so.

\- You are not frustrating because I did not manage to possess you.” He buried his face in her neck, leaving burning kisses all over her skin. “You are frustrating because I will never possess you.

\- Oh.”

 

She did not find anything else to say, lost as she was in the middle of a storm of emotions, feelings and doubts. She let him take her to the bed. When she started to undress Oberyn, she was already naked herself. _He is good,_ she recognized as she would have recognized a painter’s talent while looking at his masterpiece. It took her a moment to admire his shoulders, his powerful body and the few scars on his dark skin.

When he leaned to kiss her again, she could not remembering the last time she was naked in front of a man and shivered. The prince considered the shiver as a reaction to his touches and continued as she let out a barely audible sigh. Her trouble only thickened, and she felt as if drowning in a half-dream, a sort of bittersweet fantasy. She saw Oberyn, she felt his warm hands on her body, she knew it was him and she _wanted him_ to be here. But when he entered her, it was Tywin she remembered and she had to fight against her tears for them not to run. _No, not like this, it cannot…_

 

“You are not nearly as strong as you show,” Oberyn murmured at her ear, as if he had guessed, _felt_ what was happening. “You do not have to be here.

\- I have to be strong everywhere.

\- Not with me.”

 

He smiled and the tenderness of this smile startled her. She smiled as well, surprised to even be able to, and clung unto him. She closed her eyes, and it was better this way – she saw nothing. She gave in, gave up everything she had, she was, in his arms and that too was better this way. And she held onto him as a castaway on a lifeline of scorching desire and pleasure.

If he indeed had sensed something wrong, he did not really try to make himself softer in any other ways. And Shara wondered how she managed to live this far without this kind of men. _No, not this kind of men_ , she corrected herself once everything was over and he was lying next to her, short of breath. _There is only him._

When she turned her head to him, she realized he was looking at her. Suddenly sharply aware of her nudity, she still turned to him without trying to hide herself behind the messy sheets. He chuckled, as if remembering a joke or realizing something. She slightly frowned and waited for him to explain his mirth. He reached for her cheek and caressed it, shaking his head.

 

“Your ability to switch between sheer weakness to contempt is truly astounding.

\- Weakness?” She scoffed. “Is that how you call this?

\- You know what I am talking about.

\- I am afraid I do not,” she smiled even more. “But what I do know is that the longer you stay, the more suspicious this gets.

\- Oh, so you really believe they did not have doubts _before_?”

 

He sat up to gather this clothes all around the bed. He stood up once his pants put back on, his toga in hand. _He could be your father._ But her father was not a Dornishman and he was especially not _this_ Dornishman. She watched him try to compile the broken pieces of the glasses, give up and drink directly from the bottle. She rolled her eyes but did not put her clothes back on just now. It was hot and the little wind that blew inside the room was barely fresh enough to cool the air.

 

“That being said, if you gave in in the sole purpose of having me support your cause with Doran, know that there was no use,” he noted, putting the bottle back on a shelf. “He does not wish to know my opinion.

\- He knows it already. If I wanted to manipulate someone, I would have tried with your niece.

\- Oh, Arianne. I would not recommend that strongly enough, but I am not certain she is prone to have you in bed after the… Revelations you made on her.”

 

She darkened. Amongst the things she was not proud of, what she had done to Arianne was probably the one she hated the most. She pulled the sheet with her when she stood up and wrapped herself in it. She brushed the cover of the book she was reading before Oberyn arrived, thoughtful. She had not yet heard of any reaction from Doran regarding his daughter; she imagined they had a long conversation. He was not the kind of man to lock her up or send her away as a sanction. At least, he did not seem to be this kind of father. Hers would probably have locked her in one of the sky cells for a few days, just enough for her to understand she was _nothing_. _A good thing he is dead._

 

“What will happen to her?

\- I do not know what you told Doran,” he continued, looking curious. “He does not seem to be angry, quite the contrary. He recognized… The scheme was not completely worthless.

\- I must have played with his paternal feelings.

\- I rather think you were scared to throw Arianne to the flames.” He shrugged. “I do not blame you. It was high time someone put some sense in her head.

\- Does she?”

 

The question was whispered. Oberyn pretended he did not hear it while he put his tunic back one. Except for the fact that Shara was still naked under the sheet, any trace of what had happened had disappeared. He looked at the wine spread on the floor with a trace of sadness before he decided to give her his attention. He walked closer and dived his dark eyes in hers. He placed a strand of blond hair that escaped from her braids behind her ear and tilted his head.

 

“Given that she somehow got what she wanted in the first place, she probably will not be angry for long.

\- What she wanted, which is?

\- Same as you, except that she got it.

\- I am not seeking Doran’s friendship,” she tried, to divert the conversation. “I am seeking his support.

\- Of course you do.”

 

He laughed, making no secret of his sarcasm, grabbed the bottle of wine and left the room nonchalantly. She kept quiet for a while, eyes on the door, before shaking her head. She grabbed the first robe she found and, to justify her nakedness, she called the maid and asked for a fresh bath. She asked no questions – and Shara was not too sure it was a good sign. Maybe she had crossed path with Oberyn and his completely inability to hide his interest in her, or maybe she…

 _Stop,_ she ordered herself. It was not as if she did not want it to happen. She had done everything to encourage it, no matter what she wanted to believe. And if the maid knew, so what? To the entire world, she was already another Lyanna Stark, except that no one ignored the fuming hatred between her husband and her. Once the war begun, she would definitely this century’s Lyanna – an ambitious one, at that. 

She slipped into the almost cold bath with pleasure and her thoughts wandered around Droan. Though she could not be certain of his decision, Oberyn behaved as if she had won already. She refused to let herself be convinced of that, but she could not help thinking further. If he accepted to let her head North, she would find Stannis’ armies there. It would take a few days on horse to make it to Winterfell or wherever he would be. She would send a letter to Lord Royce for gather the Vale’s armies at the border and… And then Stannis would decide what to make of it. _If he still wants my help,_ she mused. But he did listen so far, did he not? He had no reason to refuse. She closed her eyes and sighed, refusing to think any more of it. Even if she _had_ wanted to do it, her mind was lost in a maelstrom of very recent memories, and they were too distracting for so serious considerations.


	23. Just like a Caged Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost 2K guys! I'm very glad for all your great comments and views. I'm pretty sure Shara would be too - if she even knew what a computer is.

It took two more days for prince Doran to summon her back to his apartments. This time, she went alone – she knew the way, after all. She was not certain what it could mean. Was it a mark of respect? Of contempt?

In any case, she immediately went on her way. The door opened before her when she arrived, and she found Doran on his wheeling chair, Oberyn rested against the nearest table with a wine glass in his hand and Arianne, lying on a couch not too far from both men. Her brothers were not there. She respectfully bowed and waited for any of them to talk.

 

“Lady Shara,” Doran greeted her. “Thank you for coming so quickly.

\- I am at your service, my prince.

\- We have taken our decision regarding you… And regarding the whole kingdom.”

 

She slowly nodded and dared look around Doran. Oberyn, true to form, was staring at her silently. Arianne, unfazed, was slightly smiling. She cautiously saluted her. She smiled a little bit more. _If I were her, I would hate myself,_ she mused, surprised. But after all… Maybe she did get what she wanted. She smiled back.

She only returned to Doran a few seconds later. His eyes had not left her. _Please, do not keep be waiting like this, say it._ She was boiling inside. Outside, she struggled to look as serene as possible. It probably did not work too well, though: there was too much at stake.

 

“Given our discussion and all those I had with my brother and daughter,” he continued. “It seems clear that war is already there and not only because of you.

\- What he means is that I am more responsible than you are.” Oberyn rolled his eyes. “We already had this conversation a dozen of times, Doran.

\- In light of these circumstances, though, we simply cannot let you go North on your own.”

 

She almost collapsed. Her heart jumped and a sudden nausea tore her insides. She probably paled too since Oberyn put his glass on the table to reach for her, to catch her if she happened to fall. She immediately straightened her posture and looked away from him to look straight at Doran. _I will not give him this pleasure._ He was not capable of defending her, he would not see her stumble. She gulped.

 

“I see.” Her face was tense. Her voice, curt. “You are depriving yourself of…

\- I said we cannot let you go North _on your own_ ,” Doran interrupted her, a shine in his eyes. “So you will go with Oberyn. He shall serve us as an intermediary and will ensure our best interests are respected.

\- You… Oh.

\- This jibe was distasteful, but it was not my idea.”

 

Arianne burst out into laughter, looking at her uncle. _You…_ She refrained from slapping him. She would do that later – apparently she would have all the time in the world to do so, anyway. She frowned and shook her head, but she quickly smiled as well.

She was saved. _Saved!_ Tywin would not have her back, she would not lose her head in Casterly Rock. She would go back to Stannis and support him with all the power of the Vale’s armies. In due time, she would thank Dorne and Doran especially for their help. She furiously wanted to dance, a wish she did not have in years… Ever since she was a child, really. But she had walked so close to the edge that she know wanted to waltz on the brink; she was _saved._

 

“A letter has already left for King’s Landing to announce your return. You leave tomorrow at dawn. No one must recognize you, including the ship’s captain. He believes he is taking Oberyn to White Harbour for a diplomatic journey to the North.

\- How are you going to explain my disappearance to Tywin Lannister?

\- You will have rerouted the ship. I will not lie about its destinations.

\- Once we are there,” she assured. “It will make no difference.”

 

She carefully included Oberyn in her journey. He slightly smiled, a sign he noticed the attention. She pretended she did not see it and slightly bowed her head before Doran. He smiled too, with friendliness. _Something has changed._ In the way he talked, in the way he looked at her.

The distrust did not disappear entirely, of course, but there was more quiescence in the way he watched her. She felt a wave of warmth in her chest – this quiescence was the same as Stannis’ before he left King’s Landing. There was _trust_ in the way he considered her. Consideration. She felt an immense sense of pride fill her heart. _Oberyn was right_ , a part of her mind then whispered. She brushed it away.

 

“You mentioned Dorne’s best interests,” she continued. “What are they?

\- Tywin must remain alive, at least until it is possible for my people to avenge my sister and her children.

\- And nothing can be done to deprive Dorne of the slightest part of its sovereignty or territory,” Arianne completed with her musical voice. “But Oberyn will make sure of that, if he succeeds to care about something other than you.

 _\- Arianne._ ”

 

She almost scoffed: the two men, uncle and father, had intervened at the same time. She hid her smile behind her hand, pretending to refrain from sneezing. There were a few more exchanges, most of them about what they wanted her to do, and especially not to do, once reunited with Stannis. She could have refused to hear their advices – she knew them already, and applied them in her daily life, but she owed the Martells that much. Doran eventually dismissed both his daughter and Shara after barely half an hour of conversation, pretending he had to talk with his brother before his pains grew unbearable. He promised he would be there for their departure though, if not on the wharf, then nearby.

She greeted him, darted a quick look at Oberyn, and followed the princess out of the apartments. The two women ended up in the completely deserted inner court – it was way too hot to remain outside, even near the fountains. They both remained under the archway and, for a while, there was not a single word uttered. Until Arianne giggled.

 

“Princess?

\- You truly have your own way to ensure your survival, Shara,” she smiled. “You are lucky the consequences were so positive. I am not certain I would be so cheerful otherwise.

\- I am not certain you would even talk to me, princess, if I had no made sure the consequences would be positive for everyone.”

 

She smiled as well. _She would live!_ She would live and this certainty reawakened her usual arrogance and ability to pretend everything was planned _since the beginning._ In this very case, it was only partially true. _And so partially untrue._ Arianne looked at her, surprised by the sudden return of her legendary confidence, and giggled again. She sat on the edge of a rim and lost her eyes in the gardens around.

Shara mimicked her. She would miss them. _I shall return,_ she promised herself. Once the war over she would be free to return. Maybe she would pretend it to be a politically useful journey, but she would return.

 

“I will miss you,” Arianne let out, echoing her thoughts. “Though we had so little time to get to know each other.

\- I do believe the little time we had was more than enlightening.

\- That is because I am too much of a chatterbox. On that matter, thank you for your lesson. I shall remember it, this time.

\- At your service, your highness.”

 

She rolled her eyes but they were smiling. In a few years, when need be, she would be a great ruling princess. Perhaps an excellent one, if her father decided to teach her his principles. She would become the perfect mix of the two brothers. She looked forward to witness that, even though a part of herself was perfectly aware that someday, Stannis’ and Dorne’s interests, as well as hers, would not match anymore… And that this moment would arrive sooner than later.

She shrugged off these cruel thoughts. The princess’ tone and behaviour implied that she was bidding her farewell, at least until next time. It was not wise to expect a ‘next time’, but Shara knew that they would see each other again. They were made of the same wood, and this kind of wood did not bend, did not burn, did not weaken with time. When Arianne grabbed her hands in her hers, she let her.

 

“I know not what is expecting you in the North, but good luck. You will need it.

\- Thank you, Arianne.” She kept quiet for a long time before she continued. “We shall see each other again, once this is all over.

\- Of course we will. I hope I will find you on my side of the game.

\- It could be interesting if you did not.

\- And dangerous too,” she retorted, with shiny eyes. “But perhaps not for you. Perhaps more for us.”

 

They stared at each other in silence, as if gauging each other for a future fight, before both scoffing. Arianne stood up and reached for her, hugging her as a sister would do. She was almost disappointed when she stepped back. She had wondered a few times what would have changed in her childhood if she had had a sister, or a brother. An actual brother, not the sickly kid her mother-in-law had birthed. Her father probably would have pushed her towards more womanly activities, but maybe she would have been able to deserve his attention anyway? And she would not be so alone against the whole world. She would have someone by her side.

Maybe Arianne thought the same. She did not step too far from her, and still had a hand on her shoulder and her eyes in hers, with a mix of respect and friendliness, as well as some shyness she was not used to. _Intimacy is a curious thing,_ she mused, smiling weakly. Rhetoric apart, she did not want to face her as a foe. And she did not want to negotiate not to face her as a foe.

 

“Take good care of Oberyn for my father,” she eventually said, leaving her side. “Last time he left Dorne, he went to a marriage, killed a murdered and brought back a married woman.

\- Let us hope that he is not leaving to kill a married woman and wed a murderer.

\- I would be worried for you.” She shook her head. “Farewell, my friend.”

 

She nodded and left as a hasty pace. Startled, Shara kept standing there for a few instants before returning to her room. She had no time to lose thinking all the opposite feelings she sensed: she had things to pack. At least, she understood she had to do it when she noticed the bag placed on the bed, probably by Oberyn himself. She closed the door, drew the curtains and selected the thicker and warmer clothes she could find. Winter was not just a motto in the North. It was not easy task, really: the little warm clothes she found were neither adapted to a journey by sea or to the North. She folded a few capes and a few dresses in the bag anyway, for lack of other solutions, and hid it all under the bed before her maid returned.

She spent the afternoon wandering around the palace, trying to carve as much as possible of it in her memory, pictures, odours, colours… And the day passed quicker than she thought, and soon it was high time for her to return to her bedroom to quickly dine and get ready for bed. She asked for a braid, and pretended it would be easier to comb her hair in the morning if it was braided for the night.

When the sun declined, she found herself alone in her room. She tried to sleep but the jubilation of her victory with the Dornishs had been replaced by the anguish that nothing would go as planned. Though she tried to convince herself there was no reason for her plan to fail, it was no use. She turned, rolled over in her bed, and found no sleep.

Awake as she was at noon, she was not so surprised to see her door opening on Oberyn’s massive figure a few minutes after midnight. She sat on her bed and was going to light a candle when he stopped her.

 

“No, no one ought to suspect anything,” he whispered. He smelled like spices – ready to leave. “Is your maid…?

\- I said nothing. This is not my first escape, my prince.

\- But still you cannot get to sleep.”

_Touché._ She shrugged and motioned him to sleep next to her. He did. In the dark, she could not see his look but she was almost sure he was just as worried as she was. He simply knew how to hide it better. The night probably helped a lot.

 

“Arianne seems sorry for your going away. It is a pretty rare thing.

\- It is not my going away that saddens her,” she sighed. “It is the idea that next time we will see each other, we may be enemies.

\- Are you thinking about waging a war against Dorne?

\- Is Dorne not thinking of waging a war against Stannis Baratheon, once the Lannister dethroned?”

 

He did not reply. She did not know what Doran and him talked about, but it probably had to do with advices, orders to comply with when he would be with her. She heard him sigh. She closed her eyes for a second, just enough time for him to lean over and plant a long kiss on her lips. She barely reacted, but rested her head against his shoulder when he put an end to it. He did not move away. She even felt his hand stoking the back of her neck, absentmindedly. She would have never allowed herself such a moment of weakness if there had been any light around. But it was pitch black around; once the sun back, all would be over, forgotten. At least she would pretend it to be.

 

“You ought not think about that now,” he simply said. “Even Dorne is not certain of anything anymore.

\- Ha, but such will be my epitaph. Shara Arryn, she who cast doubts wherever she went.

\- That would be adequate. You even cast doubt on Tywin Lannister regarding your true allegiance, if I am not mistaken.

\- That is because he let me.”

 

She scoffed and sat us. Oberyn shook his head. She pictured him rolling his eyes. That was not hard. She could picture him with every look on his face. Smiling, annoyed, amused, worried, aggressive, cynical… _Lustful._ She brushed the image away from her mind and stood up to reach the window. She could see half of the harbour from there. There was the figure of a ship, standing there under the moon. Perhaps it was theirs – or not.

Somehow she did not want to leave – somehow she longed for a place to stop and breath, somewhere she could forget all these months of struggle and war. Dorne had awakened this longing. The Water Gardens, especially, and Arianne, and the children, the fountains, the pools, Doran… She tilted her head.

 

“Have you ever asked yourself if it is all worth it?

\- Have I heard your question correctly?

\- I have,” she continued, ignoring the mockery. “And I worry when I do, for often I reach the conclusion that no, it is not.

\- Then why do you keep fighting?

\- Usually, you do the answer to this question.”

 

He smiled – she could have sworn he did, and was still smiling when a light ringing resounded. He tensed and stood up as well. He rummaged under the bed, grabbed the bag and gestured her to follow. Startled, and absolutely not ready to leave _now_ , she reminded him she was wearing a robe. He handed her the first cape he found and ordered her to follow him again. She gritted her teeth and obeyed.

He led her through corridors she had never been in until they reached the harbour – where the ship she had noticed was expecting them. She quickly saw Doran on the side of the pontoon. He was observing the scene, seating on his wheelchair. His guard looked huge next to him. _He rang the bell._ She tightened the cape around her shoulders, though the wind was hotter than ever. There was no one around, except the two princes and Areo Hotah. No crew. No one. She followed Oberyn to his brother and bowed.

 

“I hope we did not woke you up, Lady Shara,” he said in a calm voice. “But we cannot allow ourselves the smallest mistake, as you know.

\- Of course.

\- This ship is one of House Martell’s. It has been… Furnished as such, as you shall see. You will not risk anything once inside.

\- I see.” She slowly nodded. “Prince Doran, I…

\- Once it is all over, we will have to talk, my Lady.”

 

She nodded again. _We_ will have to talk. Not Stannis and him, _she_ and him. The man knew exactly how to have her do what he wanted, she had to grant him that much. She bowed again and, with a last glance, walked on the completely empty ship. It was old, she could feel it. Oberyn led her to the cabin. He patted a part of the wall as she walked in. She gulped and looked around. It was way bigger than the one she stayed in during the initial journey. More comfortable as well. It smelled like incense, exactly like the palace did. She touched a velvet cushion as Oberyn was still searching for something in the wall.

At least, she heard a click and saw a wall spin to reveal another cabin, a smaller one, windowless. It was still comfortable and for good reason: the whole room was occupied by an immense bed covered with pillows, sheets and covers. She arched a brow and turned to her travel companion.

 

“This is what Doran meant, when he said _furnished as such._

\- What use does this cabin have, usually?

\- Let us say that it was useful when I had to seek my daughters on every corners of the world,” he simply said with a smile. “A pity you did not get to meet them.

\- We will have time for that later. I suppose I am to hide in there?”

 

He nodded. She sighed and entered the room. She could not say it was not a nice cabin – it just terribly looked like a cell. She put her bag at the end of the bed, put away the cape and sat on the mattress. He darted her a sympathetic look – she hated it as soon as she saw it.

 

“I must go. I will be back in a hour or two with the rest of the crew. You are safe in there.

\- As a bird is in a cage.

\- You are not this kind of birds, Shara,” he smiled. He ran a finger on her cheek and showed her a precise part of the hidden door. “Push this part if need be, and you may step out. Do not do it before I return.”

 

He closed the door behind him and silence lingered. She collapsed between the cushions, eyes on the wooden ceiling and, for a second, regretted her choice. _I do not want to go._ She wanted to go. She did not know anymore. Did she ever? She clenched her jaw and slowly shook her head.

Though she tried to, she did not manage to stay awake and slowly fell asleep in the middle of the bed, her robe spread around her, her head surrounded by pillows, like a forgotten doll.


	24. Cold as fire, Hot as ice

She only woke up when the ship grew restless. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was, why she was there and why she was _locked_ in there. Even then, she could not refrain from sighing, hemmed in. Seating on the bed, surrounded by the agonizing candles Oberyn had lighted before his departure, she waited for him to return.

And he did not until the ship set off and left the Water Gardens. She felt a pang of remorse, but shrugged it off. She could not be sentimental; she never was. Yesterday was a mistake that _never_ should have happened. 

She was inspecting one of the candlesticks when she heard the wall open. She pretended she saw noticed none of that until Oberyn sat on the bed nearby. He did not say anything for a while, but then sighed and broke the silence.

 

“Congratulations, you just left Dorne and we are sailing to the North.

\- What an accomplishment,” she let out, emotionless. “Let us wait for us to reach White Harbour in one piece before we cry victory, shall we?

\- Have you lost trust in me?

\- Have I ever said I trusted you?”

 

She raised an eyebrow. He smiled. Of course he did. Without adding anything, she left the room and went to the actual cabin. Now that the sun was high, she was pleased to see that it was indeed comfortable. The bed was small, of course, but it looked like an actual bedroom. She tightened the cape around her shoulder, reflexively, and searched for her journal in her bag under Oberyn’s curious eyes. He frowned, and leaned closer.

It was the captain’s, the one she was writing on ever since their first journey. The cover was made of rough leather, the pages of poor parchment, and the ink she had used was too thick, but it was important to her. The few pages she had written while in the palace were more elegant, but she did not care that much about the look of it. The content was more important.

 

“A journal?” he enquired. “I did not think you were the kind of women to keep a journal.

\- How so? Is there only one type of women to write a journal?

\- Most of them write about their lovers or maids. I doubt it is your case.

\- Then let us say that I write a _masculine_  journal. Would it be better?”

 

Oberyn sighed when he heard her cynical tone. She put the book back in her clothes and looked outside, through the porthole. From this side of the ship she could only see endless sea. She imagined Essos’ coasts, miles away from them. At some point in her youth, she had hoped to go there, if only to escape her father’s influence. She never did, because she never really tried to escape Jon Arryn – it was more of a habit she had, to look for alternatives. She always knew she belonged in King’s Landing and in the Eyries. Where else could she go?

 

“How much time left before we reach the North?

\- So eager to join old Stannis? Have you kept secrets from me, Shara?

\- I did not,” she replied with an icy gaze. “I simply wonder how much time I will have to stay locked in there.”

 

She frowned, slightly. She was not in the mood for banter. The sheer idea of being a stowaway was getting old. There was only one thing she wanted, and it was to reach the North and be _finally_ useful. All she did until this point was surviving, period.

Oberyn noticed her mood swing. He did not say anything about it and for that she felt grateful. He simply told her the journey would last twice as long as the first one, and it plunged her into a gloomy lassitude for the rest of the day.

 _Gloomy lassitude_ could have been a nice way to sum up the whole journey. For unknown reasons, Oberyn did not really try to awaken her arrogance or liveliness – she did not see him that much, really. She spent most of her days alone, and the little time they spent together, they spent apart. Despite her pride commanding her not to feel hurt by this treatment, she could not help resenting him. Why the sudden change? He had spent the whole journey from King’s Landing to Dorne trying to charm her, what was the difference now they were going North?

He spent most of his own time on the deck, away from her grasp. It was vicious circle: the less she saw him, the more she resented him and the time they spent together grew unpleasant. But he never said anything about it. He simply looked as if he had forgotten everything that happened during the last weeks. And despite her will to convince herself it did not matter, _it did._ Only too much.

And so the journey was gloomy and tiring. The little conversations they had revolved around the number of days before their arrival – which goes to show how interesting they were. When he announced her they would put ashore the following morning, she barely managed to rejoice. When he added that he had sent a crow to warn Stannis of their impending arrival, a few days before, she barely nodded. She would have thanked him for the initiative if he had been more bearable the last weeks. She did not want to.

She spent the night re-filling her bag, wrapped up in her cape and thickest dress. The little interest Oberyn showed her quickly impacted her looks: she had worn a simple braid for the entire journey and never even thought of putting on the only beautiful dress she had taken with her. _What for?_ She was not going to prostitute for a little attention.

It was still pitch black when they made land, and it made her departure easier. They waited for the captain to be busy with the harbour’s administration to walk down the ship. Breathing the northern air almost hurt her throat – it was cold, icy. The cabin’s was saturated, almost moist. Somehow she had gotten used to it, but she only realized how hemmed in she felt. Hood on her face, she followed Oberyn to the centre of the harbour. She knew White Harbour a little; her ship always stopped there when she visited Ned Stark. At night the town was not nearly as noisy as it was by day and she had troubles recognizing the place.

 

“Whom are we expecting?” she asked, looking around. “We should not stay here, we are exposed.

\- If we want to know if Stanis sent someone, this someone needs to see us.

\- If I were Tywin, I would have sent men waiting for the first ship sailing from Dorne and pretending to be Stannis’ _someone_.” She frowned. “Where has your cautiousness gone?

\- You are the cautious one, I am not.”

 

She gritted her teeth. It was usual, now, the coldness of their talks. She eventually strayed from passer-by’s way and hide behind pile of chests. It was hard to recognize anyone in such a dark night, and she could not imagine how Stannis’ agents were going to notice them. _Especially is said agents have never seen Oberyn or I._ She crossed her arms and waited.

It took a few more minutes for her to notice her captain talking with a man wrapped up in a thick cape. It was took dark to know what exactly they were doing, but she could have sworn she saw money passing from one man to the other, and the caped one leaning to listen to what the captain had to say.

 

“Oberyn,” she uttered in a tensed voice, choosing efficiency over etiquette. “There is something happening there.

\- I see that. Stay still.

\- I think we should…” The captain just motioned their direction. “… We should go. Now.

\- No, wait.

\- What? But he…

\- I told you to wait.”

 

 _You…_ She refrained from insulting him and let him slip in front of her. Of the two of them, he was the only one supposed to be there anyway. She saw the hooded man get closer to them. He did not put the hood away when he reached Oberyn. There was a long silence before he decided to talk.

Long silence she spent staring at him. He was wearing black and it only made him harder to recognize. His figure was blurry, black on black. The only thing she clearly noticed was something hanging from his neck, swinging with every step he took. _A purse? A necklace?_

“Good morrow,” he simply said. His voice was muted, unrecognizable. “Prince Oberyn?

\- It depends who is asking.

\- I do not think it works this way.

\- I believe it does.”

 

She saw Oberyn resting a hand on the dagger’s pommel he kept at his side. Her heart tightened. _What is this thing around his neck…_ She knew that every second that passed made the princess even more suspicious. Silence was tensed, the two men were on the look-out. The hooded man tried to look at her, but she kept behind the Dornish’ massive figure, trying to understand who he could be.

 _A purse around the neck…_ She suddenly moved and walked past Oberyn to face the man – he was not just a hooded figure in the night. She heard him protesting but ordered him to release his blade. He did not, but he did not do anything except put a hand on her shoulder. She pushed it off and stared at the hood in front of her.

 

“Onion Knight,” she greeted him with a stronger voice than she thought. “How is your right hand?

\- My _left_ hand’s the best of health, Lady Shara.

\- Ser Seaworth, allow me to introduce prince Oberyn Martell.” She stepped away and let the two men shake hands. “Prince Oberyn…

\- Perhaps Stannis Baratheon should teach his agents to be a tad clearer on their intentions.

\- War, my prince, calls for anything but clearness.”

 

 _I am safe,_ she thought, looking at Stannis’ Hand. He sent her none other than his _Hand_. The sheer idea felt her with a pride she hardly contained. She did not have much time to linger on this feeling since he immediately motioned them to follow him. Oberyn darted her a vague glance before reiterating the order. She followed Davos through White Harbour’s streets until they reached one of the city’s many doors. He threw a purse filled with coins to a guard and told them to mount one of the three horses standing there.

She rode sidesaddle, hindered by her dress, and took off at gallop when she saw their guide to the same. They only slowed down once the city away from sight and once they followed a path through the woods. It was still pitch black, though she could notice the first lights of dawn at the horizon. She joined Seaworth once she considered they were far enough from any kind of city. He glanced at her.

 

“My Lady. I am please to see you’re in good health.

\- You simply cannot imagine how happy I am to see you, Ser Seaworth,” she sighed. “These last few months were…

\- Demanding, to say the least. His majesty and I were… Quite surprised to hear about your escape.

\- Surely not as much as I was when I realized I managed to escape.”

 

He scoffed, lightly. Davos Seaworth was one of the few righteous men to assist powerful men. As his father with Robert Baratheon, he protected Stannis’ back and advised him as best he could. His advices were of great worth, in a very different way from Jon Arryn’s in his days. He _knew_ how the small folk thought. He knew how life was, the real life, outside war and castles. And he was fair, to a fault. He was not made for this kind of war, not any more than his king was. And there was precisely her use.

Oberyn brought up the rear behind them, and did not seem too interested in their conversation. Shara did not try to involve him. He did not need to know _everything_ and she did not _want_ him to know everything. Especially lately. She seriously questioned her trust in him, whatever he said or thought about it. _You have better things to do. Later._

 

“Any news?

\- Good ones, m’lady. The support of the northern armies allowed us to take the Riverlands. Only the Twins resist still,” he said. “This is where we are heading.

\- His majesty managed to obtain the northern armies’ support?

\- Lady Sansa and Lord Snow considered her cause just.

\- Lord Snow?”

 

She frowned. She thought Jon Snow was at the Wall ever since he joined the Night’s Watch after his father’s departure for King’s Landing. Last time she heard of him, he was still there. She did not really take the time to ask about the Wall, lately, so she hardly knew anything about its current state. Apparently, enough things had happened in the meantime for one of the sworn brothers to get in the middle of Sansa and Stannis’ negotiations. Davos noticed her surprise and explained.

 

“When we reached the North, the Wall was about to be besieged by Wildlings. Jon Snow had sent crows all over the kingdom to ask for help from the Seven Kingdoms’ lords, including his majesty,” he said. “His majesty insisted to intervene and protect the Wall. And so we did.

\- It does not explain why a sworn brother…

\- The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, actually. He has been elected.” He paused, giving her time to process the information. “His majesty authorized him to join the negotiations with his sister, Lady Sansa.

\- In his quality of Lord Commander… Or of Lord of the North?”

 

 _Two weeks away from Westeros’ politics,_ she mused. _And the whole heraldry is upset._ Things were getting more complicated than she thought – she had hoped Sansa Stark would be naïve enough to let Stannis do whatever he wanted with her armies. If her half-brother intervened in this delicate balance of power, she was not certain things would go this smoothly. Given that Robb Stark managed to get himself crowned, she would not be too surprised to see the North claiming another king in this young man. After all, he could be another Young Wolf, and a better one at that.

That being said, Davos did not look any less sceptical than her. He was not noble born, all these status, all these negotiations were too much for him to understand. She could not blame him. She was already tired of them.

 

“I am afraid the difference is not so clear,” he finally said. “But his majesty surely will explain it all better than I can.

\- Worry not. Nothing is simple these days.” She smiled. “How are her majesty Selyse and princess Shireen?

\- They are getting used to the northern weather. Queen Selyse is quite sick.

\- Oh, I see. And…” She hesitated for a second. “How about Lady Melisandre?”

 

Seaworth’s face instantly closed. He hated her, and the word was too weak to describe it – she hated Oberyn when he acted the way he did. She hated Cersei Lannister. But he hated Lady Melisandre as she hated Tywin. Wholly, all-consumingy, irrationally. _Though it is extremely rational to hate Tywin Lannister._ His eyes returned on the path they were following. She did not appreciate her herself. She was intriguing, for sure – she was even extremely mysterious. It made her an object of curiosity for the kingdom, but for Stannis she was a sort of advisor and a lover, if the rumours could be believed. She did not believe them, though. Stannis was not the kind of men to have lovers. So a lover from Asshai, a witch? She was going to continue when she heard Oberyn getting closer. She refrained from sighing and looked at him. He did not look back – he was staring at Davos.

 

“Are we going to stop?

\- We will leave the horse once at the Neck,” he replied. “And get others. We have to be quick. Though the North is pacified, there are still a few allies of the Boltons and Lannisters left.

\- On that matter, what happened to them?

\- Lady Sansa ordered their execution.

\- She could have used them against the Lannisters,” the Dornish prince retorted. “But well, I suppose this is what happened when power is given to a child.”

 

She almost turned to slap him, but did not. _Who does he think he is?_ Why was he so obnoxious? They were no longer in Dorne, he should have felt… At least he should feel the need to be cautious! _Instead he is simply insolent and unbearable._ Davos shrugged. Once again, this kind of problems was too much for him. He spurred his horse and left the duo behind.

The silence between them was even heavier than in the ship’s cabin. She gritted her teeth, again, and waited a while before trying to clear the air. _Trying._

 

“May I know what has gotten into you? Is there something I should know about?

\- None that I know of,” he replied starkly. “Why the question?

\- You are…

\- Cold? Now you know how it feels?

\- Did _I_ do something to bother you, my prince?”

 

He looked at her for long instants before replying. She could have sworn there was something in his eyes – she had stared long enough into them to know when they were hiding something. But it vanished, and his eyes returned to their neutral self. He smiled, absentmindedly, and he looked at the path ahead of them. _What is…_

There was something – there had to be. She had neither the time nor the will to search for it, but there was a reason behind his behaviour. She tried to remember everything that happened before they left, and everything seemed fine… _Until he left me in the cabin._ What did he do during the two hours he let her alone?

 

“No, my Lady.” His voice was as neutral as his eyes and it more terrifying to see him neutral than furious. “But we should go faster if we do not want to lose Ser Seaworth.”

 

He spurred his mount and overpassed her. She watched him doing so, confused, and did the same to get closer to Davos. She did not understand, but it was not as if she even could: he gave her no reason, no clue to understand him. She shook her heard and, for now, shrugged off these concerns. Once at the Twins, Stannis would need her as sharp and clear-sighted as possible and the journey would be hard enough without her Dornish companion’s temper. _Later._ Later.


	25. All that could have been

Though she never imagined she would think such thing, she found herself regretting her journey in Oberyn’s ship in the last moments of their journey to the Twins. His disdain, indifference, the strange way he had of rejecting her each time she dared to talk to him, it was _nothing_ compared to the _pains_ she now felt. Her whole body was a one and only painful spasm, ever throbbing at each move. The cold made none of that better: crossing the Neck was an ordeal.

Though Oberyn was too proud to let it show, she knew he did not feel any better: just like her, he was not used to this biting and moist cold of the North, just like her he was not used to spend _this much_ time on a horse and, just like her, the succession of long journeys exhausted him. He did not pretend otherwise, though, and he did not look any happier than her to wake up every morning knowing that the day would be spent on a horse’s back. 

Davos did not fare far better, though now adjusted to the cold and extended efforts. He quickly realized she was on the verge of complete exhaustion, but what could he do? They had to reach the Twins as fast as possible. They had no time for pause, for a day off and they could not ask any Lord for a night in their castle. They had to remain anonymous, as long as possible.

When the Twins eventually appeared within their sight, she almost fainted. She turned her head to Oberyn and was almost surprised to see his smile. _First time he does that ever since Dorne… Right?_ She was not certain. He had talked with Davos at length, sometimes in a very friendly manner, but she did not remember seeing him smile so genuinely ever since the Water Gardens. She hated every second of it, but she smiled as well. A poor smile, really; she was pale, her eyes were deeply circled in black and her clothes looked like rags. Her smile was all that remained for her usual arrogance.

 

“Our camp is a little further down, near the Green Fork,” Davos announced, motioning a direction. “We’re almost there, m’lady.

\- I am quite alright, messer. Worry not.”

 

 _Lie_ , she thought. But she could hold on for a few more minutes. They slowed down and got closer to the tents that composed Stannis Baratheon’s camp. At first, she wondered how such a small camp could hope to besiege a holdfast, and where exactly her men were. It is only when they reached the centre that she realized it was immense – and sprawling.

Flags stood alongside in an unbelievable mix of colours. The Baratheon’s black and gold, marked with R’hllor’s flaming heart was surrounded by the Stark’s black and grey and by the Arryn’s white and azure. Her heart filled with pride when she saw _her_ sigil floating above her head and she could not help smiling. The Tully’s trout stood on the other side of the camp, closer to the river, while a dozen of other minor houses’ colours flourished around their liege Lord’s. 

The entire camp was rustling around and a persistent rumour followed them as they headed to the biggest tent – Stannis’. Her heart beat faster when she realized she was going to see him again. It was not shyness, and it was not pride. She had done many a things to reach him, and amongst them, many _could not_ have pleased him. _My marriage, for example._

When they stepped down of their mounts, she winced and felt her legs going weak under her weight. She gritted her teeth and pretended nothing had happened. She ran her gloved hand through her hair to hide her discomfort and followed Davos. He announced himself. The guards stepped away and let them all enter the royal tent.

It had nothing regal but the size; the interior was sparingly furnished and she barely noticed a bigger armchair to figure a throne. _There is actually no other supposed throne,_ she noticed. There was a huge table in the middle of the room, covered with a map covered itself with pawns figuring both their forces and the Lannister’s. _Impressive,_ she thought, counting how many pawns they possessed. She did not have much time for mathematics, since Stannis quickly appeared before them. She immediately knelt, ignoring the stiffness of her backs and legs. He immediately ordered them to stand and got closer.

The man had not changed at all. Always so austere, so severe. There were many a few more wrinkles around his eyes, but that was it. He was wearing his armour inlaid with his red woman’s flaming heart. There was a long silence during which he observed them three, before he allowed himself the ghost of a smile.

 

“Lord Hand,” he greeted Davos. “Lady Shara. Prince Oberyn. I will not add insult to injury and ask you if your journey was good.

\- That would be useless indeed.” Oberyn shook his head, his eyes on the king. “We have gone a long way to meet you.

\- For that I am grateful, my prince, though I will not summon a war council at this minute. You seem to need rest.”

 

 _A way to tell us to make ourselves decent._ She quickly bowed, mimicking Davos and Oberyn on their way out, but did not follow them. She kept still in front of Stannis. There was a moment of hesitation, during which the two men stayed in the doorway, expecting a reaction, any kind of reaction. The king eventually nodded and motioned them to leave. They obeyed, though the Dornish darted her a suspicious look. She did not return it.

She needed to talk with Stannis before the war officially resumed for her, and she could bear the idea of standing for a few more minutes for that. It probably would be one of the very few chances she would have to talk with him alone – Melisandre was not there. He stared at her for a while and continued.

 

“You look exhausted, my Lady.

\- The journey was trying, your majesty,” she justified herself a bit too quickly. “But I wished to have a word with you.

\- Well then, have it. I am listening.”

 

She gulped. It was never easy to _have a word_ with Stannis Baratheon. Exactly like Tywin Lannister, he was a man of few words, but contrary to him, he went so far as _not talking_ when he ought to. She realized, as she was gathering her words, that there was more resemblance between the two men than she ever imagined. Maybe they would have made quite a lethal partnership if such thing were possible. Instead of that, they were fighting a dangerous and bloody war that destroyed the kingdom, families and history itself.

 

“Ser Seaworth explained the situation to me on our way,” she continued in a more assured voice. “I am glad your operations succeeded.

\- He probably forgot to mention that Riverrun’s taking only succeeded at too great of a life cost and that the Twins still resist us.

\- The situation is still better than when I left King’s Landing, majesty.

\- Wouldn’t it be that you would have plunged the kingdom in chaos.”

 

She gulped. She suddenly wanted to leave and followed Oberyn, but did not. She kept standing, strong and proud, as she almost stood. Her last schemes were hazardous on any account. On her account, but especially on the kingdom’s. If she had failed, the Vale would have been instantly raided. Probably defended by the North, the confrontation would have been direct and without any true leader to direct the attacks, the Lannister forces would have wiped any hope of victory out in a matter of second. _In a single escape._ She nodded.

 

“If my decisions displeased your majesty…

\- Some of them surprised me,” he admitted as he returned to the map on the table. “Some of them displeased me indeed. But you never do anything without a good reason, Lady Shara, and if we managed to fight back, it is party thanks to you. I will not deny that fact.

\- Your majesty, I…

\- What price did you pay to obtain Dorne’s support?”

 

She sighed. If Dorne were to be the crux of the war’s problem, she had to quickly explain him that they were _no_ allies. Not his anyway, and it made a great difference. _They are not mine either, really._ He raised his eyes from the map when he did not hear her answer and frowned.

It took her a few more seconds to understand he was imagining all the things she could have done to obtain their help and shook her head. Her tired mind worked to a crawl and she hardly managed to follow her own line of thoughts.

 

“I promised nothing but Tywin Lannister’s trial for the death of princess Elia.

\- A great nothing still. Have you taken the habit to promise in my name?

\- You will judge Lord Lannister anyway,” she retorted. “It is only one more count of indictment against him.

\- Such promise could have explained your presence here safe and sound, not prince Oberyn’s.

\- Prince Doran wishes to ensure Dorne’s best interests are respected.”

 

Stannis nodded and gestured her to get closer. She did, and looked at the pawns placed on the maps. Lannister’s ships were knocked over around Saltpans – where the fleet had been sabotaged by her men. She smiled when she noticed that most of the Lannister’s men were held prisoner around the Vale, the North and at the Riverlands’ border.

Her smile disappeared when she understood how many armies House Tyrell possessed. They were still allied to the crown, as of now. She mentally counted – with the royal and the Lannister’s armies, or whatever would remain of it once the Twins taken, the Tyrell still represented a serious threat. She heard Stannis sigh when she motion Highgarden.

 

“Opinions differ on what to make of the Tyrells,” he said. “The Redwyne fleet competes with ours, and the Reach is rich enough to resist a direct attack.

\- We could try to win them over, as allies.

\- They are tied to the Lannisters by marriage. They will not leave the crown undefended.

\- Unless they understand that the Lannisters cannot win,” she objected, tilting her head. “Once the Twins taken, our armies will hold the northern part of Westeros. The Tyrells are no fighters, they are ambitious. They will change side as soon as we offer them the possibility.”

 

She wondered. Putting Tywin and his house in a difficult position was exactly what she was good at, lately. The Western House had already lost most of its grandeur when it turned against itself to blame a family member of regicide – declaring him innocent completely discredited it. _Where is Tyrion anyway?_ She tried to remember any information she could have come across, but none of them concerned the Imp, so she had no idea whether he was dead, still in the capital or at the other side of the kingdom. She eventually asked Stannis. He shook his head.

 

“He ran away little time after you. Rumour has it that the Kingslayer helped him.

\- Do you know where he could be?

\- We did not try to know,” he said, lapidary. “We will not make allies out of Lannisters, even the dwarven ones, even the rejected ones.

\- Of course, your majesty.”

 

 _Here it is, the full difference between him and I,_ she mused. She had thought about it for a while, but rejected it all. Tyrion Lannister and her did not part in the best of ways, given that she helped his father condemn him – in other circumstances, though, he could have been a worthy ally, aware of every weakness of his house, of the capital and talented in both military and political matters. _More than Sansa Stark anyway._

 

“We will talk about all that tomorrow,” he declared, standing up. “Have some rest.

\- I am at your service, your majesty.

\- I know.” Something that resembled a smile floated on his lips for a second. “And I grateful to you for this very reason.”

 

She smiled back and curtsied before leaving. She had the surprise to find a soldier of the Vale waiting for her outside the tent. He knelt as soon as he recognized her and babbled respectful pleasantries. She ordered him to stand and smiled to him as well. He was a young man – a very young man. She had never met him before, but she was quite sure he was no nobleman given the way he talked and behaved. She did not ask him any question and followed him to the Arryn’s tents. He showed him hers and bowed again.

Being surrounded by blue and white almost felt like waking up from a red and gold nightmare – her falcon was everywhere, on the beddings and on the furniture, as well as on the hangings on the tent’s walls. Even the maid she was given wore blue. She was not noble either – probably not even from the Vale. She was polite and discreet, though, and did not comment on the state of her clothes, hair and body in general. _After all, coming from someone who knows what hunger means, it would be quite uncalled-for._ As she was trying to detangle her hair, Shara looked at her in the mirror in front of her.

 

“What is you name?

\- Cyriel, m’lady.

\- Do you live here, Cyriel?” She had talked for months with men only, Ellaria and Arianne excluded. She needed stupid conversation to rest her painful mind. “Did you come with the Vale army?

\- I live here, m’lady. With my father and brothers.”

 

The young girl had a thin, yet assured voice. She probably was not more than sixteen but she did not look that impressed. Less than most of King’s Landing stupid maids. She just worked, carefully indeed, but why would she be terrified of a woman barely older than her? When she raised her eyes, her eyes met hers and they exchanged a smile. _Well._ If only she had known earlier that common folks made the best kind of maids.

 

“No one forced you to come, I take it?

\- No, m’lady,” she replied while braiding her hair and twisting it in a low bun. “I came when I heard that someone needed a maid.

\- I see. Are you married?

\- Not yet, m’lady. With war, it’s not easy to find a husband. Every men fight.”

 

Once again, she had replied with a disarming confidence and honesty. But she seemed to realize that what she had imagined to be a mere observation could be understood as a critic by the Lady of Vale, one of the main belligerents seating right in front of her. She lowered her eyes, blushed, and apologized.

She was right, after all. How could she pretend she was not? The war took sons, fathers, brothers and husbands away. _Except mine, obviously,_ she bitterly thought. She reassured her and thanked her for her help once clean and clothed. Understand that she would be able to go home earlier than usual, the maid thanked her and vanished, leaving Shara alone.

Well, alone. As soon as she left, Oberyn entered. Shara refrained from sighing in exhaustion and annoyance and darted him a tired look. He had bathed as well, and shaved. It was quite strange to see him wearing northern clothes in stead of his usual Dornish tunics. _Suits him fine. Well, it would suit him even better if he were bearable._ She gestured him to take a seat and sat in front of him.

 

“You have spent quite a long time with Stannis,” he noted, not even bothering to consider him a king. “Should I be jealous?

\- No. And you would have no right to.

\- You are upset, Shara.” His tone, almost joyful, sounded more like him. “I did manage to upset you, then?

\- You managed to annoy me, but this is nothing new.”

 

She put her hands on her seat’s arms, trying not to look tense. Even though she was exactly that. She had enough of Oberyn and his mood swings. He could not be friendly, charming and odious all at once – not with her anyway. If she was not interesting anymore to his eyes, she would not beg him to reconsider. But she wanted him to come clear.

She was certain he knew exactly how she felt, she could _see_ it in the way he looked at her and looked away immediately after. She had not hidden her own feelings for him, she made no secret of it. He sighed, crossed his legs and ran a tired hand on his face.

 

“You are angry because I neglected you.

\- I am not…

\- It was not a question.” He raised his eyes. He looked suddenly very serious. “If truth be told, I am also angry because I neglected you.

\- I had no idea you were so prone to hurt yourself, Oberyn.

\- It is not a question of hurting myself. It is a question of duty, and you know that better than I do.”

 

She said nothing. _So this is it._ All this, a question of duty? Come now. He was Oberyn Martell, not Ned Stark or Stannis Baratheon. He was not a man to accept life’s trials and tribulations for something so crude as duty. She was not even sure he had any duty to live for. She gritted her teeth and shook her head. Of course he had one. Protect his people. Protect Dorne – keep Dorne away from Stannis Baratheon’s hands. And it meant that, sooner or later, he would turn into a foe. And it would only be more difficult if he indulged in a more than friendly relationship with the Lady of the Vale, main ally of said Baratheon. Oh she knew this problem would arise at some point. She just thought, _hoped_ , that it would not be so soon.

 

“So you foresee your defection already?

\- I do not.

\- But your brother does.” Of course Doran gave him the order. “I see.

\- My way of doing it… Was not the right one. I thought that you would give up on me if I pushed you away long enough. Instead of that…

\- Instead of that _you_ cannot give up.”

 

She smiled, humourless. He nodded. What they had done was a mistake – a gigantic mistake, and she felt that this mistake would follow her even after the end of the war. She twisted the wool pieces escaping from her sleeves, thoughtful. She was not going to make it easy for him. Never.

 

“You will not help me,” he guessed, sighing. “Am I right?

\- Help you understand that now that you got what you wanted, you do not really want to suffer the consequences of it? Please.

\- You know it has nothing to do with any of that.

\- Perhaps,” she granted him with an icy smile. “But in the end it amounts to the same result.”

 

She would die before telling him she was deeply and irreversibly hurt – over her dead body, really, would he understand how weak he made her. So she decided to be just as hurtful as he was. _If I have to bury what could have been but will never, I shall do it correctly._

He nodded. Added nothing. No cynical comment. No mockery. No paternalistic smile. Now was not the right time. She stood up and walked to the nearest mirror. Her reflexion was still too thin, too pale, but she recognized the court creature she had always been. This reflexion reassured her and she turned to Oberyn to stare at him, straight in the eyes.

 

“I am glad we solved this problem, my prince,” she declared. “We shall see each other tomorrow at the war council.

\- Sha…” He sighed and nodded. “Of course, my Lady.

\- Have a good evening.

\- You as well.”

 

They exchanged a long glance before he left. She gulped, painfully. The knot in her throat prevented her from breathing correctly and the nausea she had refrained since they arrived tore her insides. She lay on her bed and closed her eyes. Usually, this simple move was enough to sooth her anguish, fears and regrets. Not this time. Nothing was soothed. Maybe nothing would ever be now – especially not this bittersweet taste of what could have, should have, been, but would never be.


	26. Old Influence

“Direct attack would be suicide. They hid away in the towers, if the raid lasts too long they will simply destroy the bridge.

\- One does not simply destroy a bridge,” Oberyn sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. “Unless your bridges are made of rotten wood.

\- You seem to know a great deal of military strategy, so by all means, give us your ideas!

\- Enough.”

 

Shara sighed in relief. The conversation was becoming more and more heated on every side of the tent – Jon Snow, with the full height of his title and barely over adolescence, went up against Oberyn Martell every time he could. The latter usually simply snapped back and it only angered the young Commander even more. She did not know him that well, but the time he spent at the Wall made him even more like his father. She heard and saw his father in him, and almost expected him to announce that he was not actually dead.

Stannis had ended the quarrel and ran a hand across his face, tired already. She did not have the chance to say anything since the beginning of the council – she was not asked for advices regarding the battles to come. But Davos said nothing either and it was worth the noting – it was not usual. She exchanged a glance with him. All this babbling led nowhere and would never lead anywhere.

Especially since the other men around the table had vastly divergent interests at stake. Edmure Tully wanted to take back what rightfully belonged to him, and to avenge his sister and nephew's deaths. Jon Snow wanted to avenge his family, of course, but not at the cost of hundreds of lives. Nestor Royce, as far as she knew, wanted nothing but spare as many as his men as possible. Stannis wanted to crush the Lannisters. _He has Gemma Lannister, Tywin’s own sister. It is great beginning._ Oberyn only tried to gauge Stannis’ allies.

As for Sansa Stark, even with a crown on her head, she was still a kid wishing to avenge her family as well. She doubted she had any political idea in mind. As for herself… She hesitated. Technically, she was free of Tywin’s grasp. She was free and, more importantly, she was listened to. Of course she wanted Stannis to be crowned king – but for herself, what was she really seeking, except destroying the Lannister and having _pay for what they did to her?_ This pride, again. Again, and again.

 

“The Freys hide in the opposite river’s tower,” Lord Royce resumed calmly. “Any direct attack would be useless, and we loose hundreds of men for no result.

\- How many are they in there?

\- Most of them died during Riverrun’s siege. I would say, a thousand at most.

 _\- At most_ ,” Edmure Tully scoffed. “That is already too many of them.

\- Regardless of how many they are, we need to find a way to attack them.

\- If anyone had wildfire, things would be way easier.”

 

There was a silence. Not the kind of silence to follow a meaningless remark: a silence of consideration. No one had wildfire, obviously – that would have been too easy. But ordinary fire could do. _Why do I have to think of Tywin Lannister every time I am thinking of strategy,_ she mused. The way they all looked at her, she understood that they were awaiting her idea.

She did not know the layout of the Twins, and knew nothing of architecture. But she knew that though stonewalls do not burn, what is inside these walls do burn. And quickly, at least enough to force troops out of a tower.

 

“I believe it is time for us to get our own Rains of Castamere,” she let out with a smile. “Though it will not be rains.

\- I believe Lady Arryn has gone mad.” Oberyn raised an eyebrow. “You spent too much time with Tywin Lannister, it took a toll on your sanity.

\- I do not need your mockery to know that, my prince. Listen, instead of offering us an example of your legendarysense of humour. During the Tarbeck and Reyne’s rebellion, Tywin Lannister blocked every entrances of Castamere and rerouted a river to flood and drown everyone inside, without besieging the castle.

\- We are not going to reroute the whole Trident to…

\- Allow me to finish, Lord Snow. We are obviously not going to reroute the Trident. But we can set fire to the lower parts of the tower in which the soldiers are.”

 

There were glances exchanged. And another silence. Even Jon Snow seemed to process the idea, while Davos stared intently at Stannis. She added nothing, and waited for everyone to be done processing. She found Oberyn’s eyes without really trying to. He was smiling, at least until the moment he realized she saw him. He bent over the table to detail the map, or at least pretend to. _He already did that a dozen of times._ She did not comment. The game he played interested her no more, or more exactly, _could not_ interest her anymore.

 

“What you're offering, my Lady, is a massacre,” Nestor Royce cautiously intervened. “We cannot simply…

\- When they realize the tower is burning, they will leave it. I doubt the Freys have such loyal men to their service that they would accept to burn for their lords.

\- Once out, we just need to pick them all up.” Lord Tully nodded vigorously. “That is a good idea.

\- How would you proceed, Lady Arryn?”

 

Stannis had not commented her proposal, but the sheer fact that he asked her how she would proceed in her plan meant that he would support it… Eventually. He would not accept to see the Twins go down in flames. He would not accept to watch the flames spread and burn alive the soldiers loyal enough to stay inside. It was not the point anyway: the only thing that mattered was to empty the first tower to access the second one via the bridge and hold as hostage what remained of house Frey.

She gestured Edmure Tully and walked to him slowly but assuredly. _Let us leave a deep impression on them all_ , she mused. She was only safe so long as she was useful.

 

“Lord Tully, you know the Twins better than I do. How much time would you think it would take for time to destroy one of the two towers?

\- Several hours, if not several days,” he replied with a smile. “The castle’s stones are thick.

\- So it would be quite possible to put it out quickly?

\- With all the water around, obviously.

\- Are you going to tell us what you are hinting at, Lady Shara?”

 

 _The pup has teeth._ She tilted her head and returned between Ser Davos and Lord Royce. Ned Stark reacted just like his son did, back when she was still trying to save his head. The Northerners were not made for this kind of conversation and would never be, for lack of really _wanting_ to. She saw Sansa Stark hiding a smile, and near her, Davos bit his lower lip. She could not say whether it was the tension inside the tent, or if the situation was really so amusing but she smiled as well.

 

“My apologies, Lord Commander, I was merely making sure my theory rests on solid basis,” she declared. “Here is how I would proceed, your majesty: I would send a few men, the most discreet, to the tower. If it is not possible, then they would be instructed to return to the camp. If it possible for them to enter, then they would be instructed to set fire to a few places at once, in the caves, and then return as quickly as possible.

\- How would we know if fire really took, if they immediately return?

\- This plan’s success rests on their discretion. It would be better to let them return if the fire did not take, rather than being spotted by the Freys.

\- Lord Tully, Lord Snow,” Stannis ordered. “Gather your most capable men. Lady Arryn, I let you do the same.”

 

 _A polite way to dismiss us._ She nodded and bowed quickly. Stannis left the tent, followed all the others council members. She was going to leave as well when she realized that Sansa Stark, quiet during the sitting, was looking at her. Shara stopped by the entrance and waited for her to come closer.

She had changed. Not only because she was no longer wearing the luxurious dresses she was imposed in the capital and not only because she was slightly paler: something had changed in the way she behaved and look. She granted her a smile, the kind that could mean politeness, curiosity and wariness alike. _The kind of smiles I should see more often than not._

 

“Lady Stark,” she greeted her. “Or should I call you highness?

\- The question is not settled yet. Let us go for a walk, we spent enough time already in this tent.”

 

She nodded and followed her through the camp. She headed to the Stark’s portion, of course, looking a bit distant. _Surprising that Cersei did not notice,_ she mused, _that she never stopped being a northern girl._ The colour of her eyes and the sweetness of her voice mattered very little compared to the way she walked among her man. She belonged in the North.

She could not help wondering what the potential Queen in the North-to-be wanted from her. She was not going to thank her for forcing her out of the capital – and she would not have accepted any kind of acknowledgement for that anyway, given that Sansa’s freedom was hardly her point. Oberyn had seen right through her, and she could not imagine no one told the girl that her escape was only a side effect of a bigger plan that simply aimed at saving her own life.

 

“I did not get the chance to thank you, my Lady, for what you did for me.

\- You do not have to.” _Touché._ “I did not exactly do that for you.

\- Still you saved me from the Lannisters’ claws and allowed me to return home. It is more than what anyone ever did for me, regardless of your intent.”

 

It was not wrong, and it was all the sadder – Sansa Stark was followed by an evil eye or the gods’ wrath. She could not imagine any other reason to explain why she would be constantly surrounded by schemes and manipulations. She eventually nodded as the young girl sighed and observed the Twins from afar.

 _Is she thinking about happened here?_ Shara never had much time to think about it, but a few weeks earlier, Robb Stark and a part of his army had been slaughtered within these walls. She let it all happen, and she had even made sure Tywin’s plan went as smoothly as possible. It was not the kind of things Lady Stark could hear about. She would not understand. _No one_ could understand.

 

“Your plan was incredibly well-prepared,” Sansa continued. “The northern coin, the arrival of Lord… Of his majesty Stannis… Was there any unknowns?

\- Your reaction, and your decision regarding the Boltons. I did not predict your brother’s return. More importantly, I could not know whether or not Brienne would be able to protect your once back in Winterfell.

\- And despite all of these, there you are, escaped from King’s Landing, and everything goes according to your plan.” She turned to her. “And I wonder if there is anything you do not control.”

 

Shara chuckled, humourlessly. She controlled nothing: she simply pretended she did. Ever since she was a child, she pretended to control the whole world, to the point where people around her started to believe she did. And eventually she managed to indeed control a part of what happened around her.

 _Everything except my own feelings, apparently._ And Oberyn’s. And their common aspirations leading to divergent duties. But she was not going to tell Sansa Stark about that. How could she understand her? She knew nothing of what was really going on in the kingdom. Perhaps she would make a perfect little Queen in the North, if Stannis allowed her, but she would _never_ be a great politician. She was smart, probably very smart, but her heart was too pure and her intentions too noble for her to realize that this war, even won in the end, would only be the beginning of a series of endless others. The Lannisters, then the Targaryens, and then who? The Others?

 

“Quite a few things, Lady Sansa, otherwise the war could be already over and my father would not be dead.

\- In moments of anger, I cannot help thinking that if he had not died, all of this could have been avoided,” she confessed. “It is a cruel thought and I feel so much guilt for it, but…

\- Why? You are right. If my father had no died, yours would not have had to come to King’s Landing. The war between the Lannisters and the Starks would not have begun, at least no with your father’s death. And if it had had to begin, my father would have known how to stop it.”

 

She did not add that if Jon Arryn had lived, the Lannisters would have disappeared from Westeros with queen Cersei. There would have been a war, but the Westerlands against the whole kingdom would not have made a lengthy conflict. House Lannister would have been wiped off the map. Of course, Daenerys would have become a problem at some point, but if Robert had had his ways, she would have been killed – her father probably would not have opposed it as strongly as Ned Stark did. The Wall would have been a problem, but the crown would have had more means to help it. The Greyjoys probably would not have tried to rebel.

How many deaths could have been avoided if Jon Arryn had not been poisoned? She would have not risen the way she did, but she would not have lost all sense of honour either. She would have married some Lord, probably a Tyrell, and would have had to settle for the quiet life of a Lady of the Reach. _No Oberyn. No Iron Throne. No war._ No blood on her hands, no Tywin Lannister, no wedding. She looked away for a second and lost herself in the contemplation of the flags around her. None of that. It was hard to imagine, harder than to imagine the Twins burning.

 

“But your father is dead, and so is mine,” she declared in a more assured voice. “The only world we have is this one, the only life we have is the one we are living. It is only thing that matters.

\- I… Suppose so.

\- I need to have a word with Lord Royce, to get my men ready. Do you need me still?

\- Of course.” She smiled, weakly. “Do not let me keep you. Thank you for coming with me, Lady Arryn.”

 

She nodded and went back to her house’s tents. _They use my maiden name only too easily,_ she thought while entering the war tent. Lord Royce was there talking with a few smaller lords. They all bowed before her when she appeared. She gestured them to stand up and waited for them to leave before seating in front of a table covered with the same map and pawns as Stannis’. She sighed and let Nestor Royce seat as well.

It was quite strange and amusing that they did not know each other that well. He was Keeper of the Gates of the Moon and High Steward of the Vale, a way to say that he took care of the Vale when her father was away, back when he was still alive. He simply had continued to play this role under his daughter’s ladyship, and decided to ignore that the actual Lady of the Vale was supposed to be Lady Lysa, as her son’s regent. But it was not surprising that he decided so, given the amount of hatred the two had for each other. The man was smart, though: he knew that in times of war, Lysa Arryn would not be able to correctly take care of such a strategic territory. Since Shara’s orders usually made sense, he followed them. That did not mean he was not self-interested; she knew that he dreamt of being given his title in a hereditary and permanent manner. _He wants a castle for his descendants. A name._ It was natural. She had wanted to grant him the title for years already, for services rendered.

 

“My Lady,” he greeted her. They did not have much time to talk ever since she arrived. “It is always a great pleasure to see you among us in good health.

\- A great pleasure to see you too, my Lord. Before we get to his majesty’s orders, can you tell me more about the situation in the Vale?

\- Our stocks are stable and allowed us to lessen the part of the production given by the farmers to fill them. They were obviously grateful for that. Our harbours suffered quite a bit during the attack against the Lannister fleet, but I made sure they are restored to working order as fast as possible. The works are currently going on.

\- As for the Lannister prisoners?

\- I took the initiative to render them to his majesty Stannis Baratheon.”

 

She nodded. There were nothing but positive things, but she suspected he was not done. She toyed with a small figure representing her army and tilted her head to encourage him to continue. He cleared his throat and seemed hesitant to continue. Hesitation, in a man as imposing and gruff and he was, meant nothing good.

 

“Well? Do I need to beg you?

\- No, my Lady, of course not,” he quickly continued. “Lord Baelish arrived in the Vale a few weeks ago, when your armies headed to the North.

\- What does this bird of ill omen wants?

\- Your mother-in-law’s hand in marriage, my Lady. I fear he has some dark machinations in mind.”

 

She frowned. All was not that good, then. She knew of the _affection_ Lysa Arryn, né Tully, had for Petyr Baelish. And she knew his unbounded ambition. Being granted Harrenhal’s lordship was not enough, now he wanted the Vale. Stannis’ armies had not yet gone all the way to Harrenhal, and probably would not reach it before heading south, to the capital. He still was lord, then.

But he would not have the Vale. Not as long as she lived – not as long as she would have her ways. She smiled, and shook her head, giggling. Royce did not say a word, startled, probably thinking she was going to blame him for doing nothing. But what could he have done anyway? Force a nobler man than he was out of a place he was probably invited in?

 

“Lord Royce, do you remember my father’s will? The one I asked you to keep?

\- Of course. But what…

\- If my mother-in-law ever decides to marry this stupid bird,” she ordered. “You will disclose this will and my refusal to allow this marriage.

\- This will has never been recognized as lawful, my Lady, I am not…

\- It will buy us time. Cast doubt in our people’s mind will be enough to give us enough time to win this war before taking care of Baelish. Besides, I do hope none of my bannermen would bend the knee before this petty nobleman.”

 

She raised her eyebrow and he quickly nodded. Some of them, the weakest, would probably bend the knee. But they probably would change their mind as soon as possible, and her father’s will would be a good reason to do so. She had it written just before his death, to guard against this kind of events. She _was not_ the Lady of the Vale, if her father’s true will was to be believed. On the political stage, she was. But she did not have any power to stop a marriage, especially her mother-in-law’s. This forgery would give us the necessary power to do it – for a time, at least.

She switched subject to the men that would be offered to Stannis for her plan. Young men, talented knights known for their stealth according to Royce. She did not discuss his opinion, she had no idea which of her men were the best.

Suddenly feeling sick, she dismissed Lord Royce once all the problems solved. She winced when she was alone. She thought the exhaustion or the journey’s pains caused her nausea, but she now was well rested and the stiffness she felt gradually vanished. She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath, still seating. _I should have never done so many journeys at once,_ she mused. Her body was not strong enough. She ordered her maid to pour her a glass of water as cold as possible and emptied it.

She was going to go lie on her bed when she noticed the prince of Dorne’s face appear at her tent’s entrance. _Why does he always appear when he ought not?_ She darted him a look and frowned.

 

“ _His majesty_ Stannis summons another council to perfect your plan,” he told her without really looking at her. He raised his eyes in mid-sentence. “He wishes for you to… Are you feeling good? You are extremely pale.

\- Not more than usual. I am coming.

\- Do you want…

\- I thought you wanted to keep away from me, my prince.”

 

He instantly quieted. He nodded and vanished. _Anyone could have go in his stead. What is doing?_ She was not going to bear his tolerate his games the whole war. She gulped one last time, took a deep breath, and left to Stannis’ tent. The sun was slowly setting – the day was already over. She clenched her jaw when another wave of nausea rinsed through her. No matter what was going on, she _could not_ be weak. Not now.


	27. Frightening Hope

She had never imagined she would ever see so many men in armour standing still and staring at towers for hours. The picture would have been quite amusing in other circumstances. Stannis had sent his scouts, mostly men of the Riverlands for they knew the place’s architecture better than any others, and they had returned almost an hour ago. There was no sign of fire yet. The generals were already wondering whether or not they should send another group of scouts. She had not been summoned to the war council, and it was only natural given that they mostly discussed which side to attack first, when exactly and how. She was not really offended. Oberyn Martell was not part of it either, since he had not brought any men and led no army. He was not even going to be part of the attack anyway.

She was going to return to her tent when rumble rose amongst the men and through the camp. She turned to the tower and noticed plumes of smoke rising from the windows. _Fire_ , she understood. A small one for now, started in the inferior storeys, but it was already too late to stop it so easily. She hailed one of her men.

 

“Go tell his majesty that it is time to launch the attack,” she ordered him. “And come back straightaway.”

 

He nodded and rushed as fast as his armour allowed him to. The officers were taking their horses while the squires busied themselves with their knights. She was not used to battles, and she could not help admiring the scene with a certain amount of fascination. She suddenly understood why her father appreciated war, and the late king Robert’s love for great battles. _It is beautiful._ It would probably be a little less beautiful when blood is spilt.

It did not take long for the generals to leave the tent and get ready. She caught a glimpse of Jon Snow running to his own tent and walked to Stannis, in armour already. She quickly curtsied while he gave orders to everyone around him. They only waited for the first group of soldiers to evacuate the tower to attack. Once all of them either dead or made prisoners, half of the allied armies would rush on the bridge to get ride of the Freys, on the other side of the bank, while the other would extinguish the fire. When he turned his eyes to her, he granted her a look as stark as ever. He was not in the mood for bantering. _As if Stannis Baratheon ever was in the mood for bantering._

 

“Your plan is about to succeed, Lady Arryn,” he declared as he observed the tower. “But let us not celebrate victory before it is ensured.

\- Obviously, your majesty. I came to wish you luck.

\- Thank you, my Lady. Will you follow your men?

\- If you majesty so wishes, it will be an honour to follow them to battle.

\- Prince Oberyn shall escort you.” He retrieved his helmet. “Even at the rear, a lone woman cannot remain on a battlefield unaccompanied.”

 

She cutsied again, silent. She never even thought of going alone in the middle of the fights. She walked away to Oberyn’s tent, near hers. As far as she knew, Stannis’ staff had had troubles finding him a slot in the camp. He was technically Stannis’ guest so his tent should have placed near the royal tent. But he was only there because she was – so they eventually decided to put him near the Arryn’s zone. She scratched his tent’s door and entered. He darted her a curious look.

 

“My Lady?

\- The attack is soon to be launched. His majesty wishes you to escort me to the battlefield.

\- Have you decided to learn the art of war as well, Lady Shara?

\- I intend to see how my plan unfold,” she simply replied. “I will ask for horses to be prepared for us.”

 

She did not give him time to reply and went to the stables. They gave her an almost all-white mare – the idea was quite amusing, truly. She asked for another horse to be saddled for Oberyn. The hostler did not discuss and when the prince arrived, he found his mount already prepared. She was stoking her horse’s neck when she heard the trumpets. _There it is,_ she thought. She darted a look at her Dornish escort and mounted sidesaddle with his help.

They had to remain behind the lines, they were not even supposed to get any close to the fights. Even if she wore a leather doublet over her dress, she was not able to fight anyone. Oberyn only wore his usual daggers at his side, and was not any more ready to fight. They waited for the armies to be gone to join the officers, at the top of a small hill that overlooked the Twins. The outlook was ideal and they could see everything that happened below. The smoke that escaped from the tower was getting noticeably thicker and groups of soldiers left the castle. Most of them did not even seem to be armed. Their men instantly attacked them.

She did not manage to take her eyes away from what happened around the river. The flags and poles mixed in a sickly combination of colours and insignias as the grass turned red under the armies’ feet. She clung unto her mount’s reins. The swords’ roars, the men’s screams, every battle’s sounds echoed and reached them in a deafened way, as if they heard them through a wall. The officers were discussing the attack around her, considering that everything was going according to plan. Their army was already swarming the bridge.

 _I feel heady._ Her head was spinning, the nausea she had more or less gotten used to had returned and twisted her gusts. She lowered her head, closed her eyes for a second but it made no change. It felt like the entire cavalry was in her head, that their horses’ hooves were resonating in her skull. She gulped and slowly shook her head. It only made it worse. Standing just next to her, Oberyn frowned and moved his horse in front of her, as to make sure she was not going to hurtle down the hill.

 

“Lady Shara? Are you feeling alright?

\- It is just tiredness, my prince,” she pretended in a voice weaker than she thought. “Worry not.

\- You are very pale, my Lady, and you have been for the last week. Are you sure…

\- I said I am, Oberyn.”

 

She had completely forgotten that they were not supposed to use their first names anymore, but it truly was not the most important thing she could think about at the moment. She was still staring at the battlefield and she saw more and more men rushing on the bridge. The Frey’s army and the few Westerlands’ soldiers that had been added to their forces were running away, dying or were being captured. _We are winning,_ she wanted to cry. But she did not succeed. Her head was spinning even worse and her field of vision was narrowing until she could only see blots of colours, then a single one. She stammered words she did not understand, and any colour disappeared. 

 

She did not wake up in her tent. She was lying on a bed, in a rather spacious room with a fire lit in the heath. She cautiously sat up and realized she felt good. Well, mostly – when she looked under the covers, she realized she was covered with bruises and cuts. _I probably fell off my horse,_ she mused, sighing.

She looked around and tried to recognize the place. She did not. _Is this a tower of the Twins?_ She stood up and walked to the window. She smiled when she recognized the scenery. They had won, they had taken the Twins. She nodded and was heading to the bed when the door opened. She thought it would be Oberyn or whatever maester, so she did not immediately turned to greet the newcomer. When she did, she immediately bowed and admonished herself. It was Stannis himself. And gestured her to stand and went to the window as well.

 

“Congratulations, your majesty,” she quickly declared. “Yet another victory.

\- And a good one, at that. We lost very few men and managed to take many a prisoner.

\- I am delighted to hear that, sire.

\- All of that thanks to your plan, my Lady. You deserve at least part of the praise.”

 

She smiled. She could hardly expect any more from Stannis Baratheon – he would not congratulate her himself. But this was enough, at least enough for her to blush. Or try not to anyway. The man seemed to understand the pink of her cheek as sign of sickness and ordered her to sit. She did, obediently, as he paced the room back and forth for a while before stopping in front of her.

If the late king Robert had been quite a handsome man in his youth, and if Renly Baratheon was probably the most charming man she had ever met, Stannis was neither. Quite the contrary, really: his squared face was heavy, lacked any charm and his traits’ starkness did not help. He was no courtman and probably would never be. _I am not even sure he would be a good king._ He was simply unable to set off any kind of love from his people, or any kind of admiration from his pears. He inspired respect, and that was all. It was a good thing, but not nearly enough for a king. He needed someone to make sure his people would, at least, not despise him. _Selyse is not that person,_ she could not help thinking. She was as austere and unattractive as he was, and she was half-mad. She did not get to see her since she arrived, due to her illness.

 

“If you wonder what happened, you lost consciousness and fell from your horse,” he explained. “Prince Oberyn brought you back to the camp until we were certain the castle was safe. The maester thinks you overworked.

\- I apologize to your majesty for any disturbance I caused. It will not happen again.

\- I shall make sure it does not, indeed.” He stared right at her for a few seconds. “I order you to rest, my Lady. You will not be of any use once dead of exhaustion.

\- I… Very well, sire.”

 

He nodded and left. _I suppose this is how he shows his concern._ She sighed and looked at herself in the mirror nearby. She did not feel sick, at least not as Selyse or all the others. She felt fighting fit… Until she did not. She needed not anyone to worry for her, especially not now. Contrary to what Oberyn pretended, she was not paler than usual. Or at least, not noticeably.

When the door opened again, she immediately turned to be certain she would not commit another blunder. It was the prince, still wearing his leather armour. She motioned him to enter and sat on the armchair near the window. He did the same, in front of her. He stared at her suspiciously, as if he believed she was hiding something from him. _Well, if that is the case, I know not what I would hide._ She tilted her head.

 

“I thank you for bringing me back to the camp, my prince,” she said, her voice even. “His majesty told me.

\- I was not going to leave unconscious in the middle of a battlefield. You did worry the entire camp, our young Commander included.

\- I am sorry.

\- As I am.”

 

His eyes did not left her. He was going to ask all the questions Stannis did not, whether because he, well, was Stannis, or because he did not know how to ask them. Oberyn was not so filtered, especially wit her. She lowered her eyes, pretending she did not know what he wanted.

 

“I think we can stop this little fool game you started,” he let out, vaguely annoyed. “What is happening to you, Shara?

\- I am exhausted and overworked. I never travelled so much in so little time, and lest you forget, until very lately, I did not even know if I would keep my head on my shoulders.

\- Oh please, spare me. Overwork does not provoke nausea.

\- How…” She remembered the time he caught her lying on her bed, in her tent. “This does not concern you, Oberyn. Furthermore…”

 

The door opened again. _Is that a joke?_ She saw an old man enter, a maester whose name she did not know. He bowed before them and walked to her. She stood up and smiled. If he did heal her, then she owed him as much. He introduced himself as maester Vyman of Riverrun. He had followed Edmure Tully to war and he was the first to take charge of her when Oberyn brought her back to the camp. He was going to repeat everything Stannis had already told her when he noticed the prince of Dorne. He quieted and glanced at him. He frowned.

 

“My Lady, perhaps you would prefer me to speak of your state in a more…

\- Lady Shara is under my protection ever since we left Dorne,” Oberyn declared. “I wish to stay.

\- My prince, I thank you for your solicitude, but if maester Vyman thinks that…

\- I shall not leave, my Lady.”

 

This time, she frowned. She apologized to the maester and headed back to Oberyn. He was looking at her without a smile, looking dead serious, more than he ever did. _What is going on in this bloody castle?_ She gritted her teeth and shook her head. He did not react at all. He did not stand; quite the contrary, since he spread his legs on the tea table in front of him, looking brasher than ever. _The gods have mercy, because I am not sure I will._

 

“Prince Oberyn, I demand you…

\- And I refuse. I do not believe you are in any position to give me orders, Lady Arryn. So I shall stay.

\- Then we leave!” she cried. “We shall go to another room.

- Where I shall follow. Speak, maester. We are listening.”

 

 _Who does he think he is?!_ She gritted her teeth even more and turned to the poor maester who looked even more awkward than before. She motioned him to continue, tired of this joke. Obedient, he asked her to tell him every symptoms she felt since the beginning of her nausea outbreaks. She calmly replied that she experienced nausea, headache and dizzy spells, and that it was the first time she lost consciousness; when he asked if she ate enough, she simply said she was not that hungry lately. He nodded and explained every possible reason for her state.

Overwork came first, but as Oberyn said, it did not explain the nausea. He did not believe she suffered from the queen’s illness, since it involved a permanent cough and nose and throat bleedings. _Charming._ The rest of his possible reasons were no more satisfying. Surprised, she tilted her head again. _Why did he tell Stannis that I was simply overworked, if he does not believe I am?_

 

“This is all fine and good,” she coldly said. “But you do not seem to know more than I do what is happening to you.

\- My Lady, you have no fever. No infection, no poorly treated wound. You seem to be in good health.

\- That is exactly what I tell everyone here. It is just a chill.

\- Continue,” Oberyn suddenly ordered. “I believe you are not done.”

 

She darted him an angry look before returning to maester who looked more and more panicked as time went by. And she was angrier and angrier. She had no idea what the two men were trying to say, and she had no idea what it all meant, but she would not remain calm for long. If they had something to say, she intended to know what. And she intended to understand _why_ Oberyn insisted to stay. He was no doctor, and knew nothing of diseases.

The maester eventually continued after a deep breath, as if he feared she would get even angrier.

 

“My Lady, I must ask you a question.

\- Well, just do ask it.

\- Did Lord Tywin Lannister consummate your union?

\- I beg you pardon?” She almost scoffed, startled. “Why would you ask such an intimate question? What is the…

\- Yes he did.”

 

This time she turned round and rushed to the prince of Dorne. He seized her hand before she managed to slap him and stood up. She stared at him, at her wits’ end, and struggled to push him back. He let her, but stepped away to join the maester who was now staring at the window, trying to make himself scarce. He crossed his arms on his chest, and his eyes were shining even more furiously than her attempt to slap him has been. As if he had just received the answer to a question he had been asking himself for months. She looked at both men and raised her voice.

 

“Will anyone tell me the meaning of this?!

\- My Lady, my question was…

\- I order you to be extremely clear, maester,” she groaned. “For I am in no mood for listening to your blabbering.

\- It is possible, my Lady, that you are with child.”

 

She was going to scream again. But she did not. She simply blinked, unable to understand. _What?_ It did not make any sense. She could not be pregnant. She had no reason to be, it was not as if… _Oh._

She lowered her eyes and reached for her own lips with a trembling hand. Of course it made sense. It made only too much. Tywin _had_ consummated their marriage, of course. And there was Oberyn too, in Dorne. She tried to count the weeks, the months, but it did not help. She gulped and patted around her to find her seat. The maester rushed to help her but she pushed him back. She simply clung unto the back of it and took a deep breath. She composed herself before looking at him again.

 

“Thank you, maester.

\- My Lady, if you…

\- I ask you to tell no one,” she continued, unmoved. “Including his majesty. Including Lord Tully.

\- Very well, my Lady.

\- Now leave.”

 

He bowed, and vanished. She ran a hand across her face and shook her head. She had no idea what possibility was the worst. The idea that Tywin Lannister still managed to torture her despite the hundred of miles she had put between them, or the idea that her child’s father was perhaps a few inches from her. He made no sound, as if the news was enough in itself. _He is right, it is._

No, she did not know what was worse. If the child was Tywin Lannister’s, then it was legitimate and would bear his… _Father’s_ name. If Stannis were to win, then maybe it would have a right over the Rock. But until the very end of its days, it would remain a cruel reminder of the time she spent within the Tower of the Hand’s walls. And if the child was Oberyn’s… She shivered. Another bastard. Another mistress, she would be.

 

“I suspected so,” he finally said, in an extraordinarily gentle voice. “Ever since we arrived.

\- And you did not think proper to tell me?

\- You did not exactly want to see me.

\- I asked for none of that,” she retorted, staring back at him. “Neither for this child, nor for your… Loyalty for a child lost in Essos.

\- Dorne has nothing to do with this.

\- Dorne has everything to do with this.”

 

She gulped and collapsed on the seat. She still did not accept the idea she was _with child_ , but what she knew was that Oberyn was going to become her enemy. And that she could not simply bear the child of an enemy, even an enemy-to-be. _Especially to-be._ He walked closer and knelt before her to hold her hand. She watched him doing so and gritted her teeth.

She suddenly wanted to cry. None of that made sense, but then again it made only too much sense. It was not possible, not now. Maybe this child would die because she _could not_ stop following Stannis. Maybe _she would die._ Maybe… She shook her head.

 

“It does not matter whether this child is mine or not,” he slowly said. “My mission is to protect you until this war is over.

\- And once it is, your mission will be to seek Daenerys Targaryen and ensure her of Dorne’s support.” She stared still. “And once this mission is over, then you will return to Westeros and lead Dorne’s armies against the kingdom.

\- The decision…

\- The dices were rolled a long time ago. You are a prince of Dorne, I am the Lady of the Vale. I will not abandon Stannis and you will abandon your brother. This is the truth.”

 

Her voice, cold, did not reflect the pain that broke her heart, tore her insides and her head. She wanted to scream, to yell so loudly as to awaken the dragons’ bones back in King’s Landing. She wanted it all to end. She did not even feel strong enough to stop Oberyn from squeezing her hands in his. For what? Let him squeeze them. One day these hands would kill him. One day his hands would kill her.

 

“That was the truth before Doran knew you are with child.

\- You may not be the father.

\- No, I may not,” he sighed. “But we both know who will die and who you love.

\- Perhaps we do. But I doubt it changes anything. You will not betray your own blood before you loved me for a while.”

 

_And I will not betray mine because I love you._


	28. By the Gods' Law

Any other woman would have wallowed in self-pity, or at least would have taken a few days of rest. Shara decided to set a quasi-omerta on her state and returned to Stannis’ war council as soon as she could – the day after she awakened from her loss of consciousness. It took place in the Twins’ great reception room, though she personally would not have used the room where Robb and Catelyn Stark had been slaughtered – Jon and Sansa were still part of the council after all. No one made any comment on the matter, though, so she guessed they had been consulted on the matter.

The situation was advantageous, _very_ advantageous. They now had an uncountable amount of prisoners, and most of house Frey had joined their distinguished prisoners. And there were many of them too, though the only one who truly mattered was Gemma Lannister. She had been placed in one of the Twins’ cell with her husband and most of her family-in-law. The next as well as the last step was now King’s Landing.

 

“The Tyrells will remain allies of the Lannisters,” Edmure Tully insisted when the Tyrell question arose again. “The Redwyne fleet is powerful enough to oppose ours and they had enough men to survive a siege. And I am not even mentioned the Lannister’s armies that will never surrender.

\- Do you think we can win the Tyrells over?

\- They remained on the Targaryen side until the Sack of King’s Landing.” Stannis frowned. “I cannot imagine what would change their mind regarding the Lannisters.

\- Perhaps a reminder that they have not exactly been rewarded for their loyalty to the crown during the last war?”

Oberyn was resting on the great table covered with the Seven Kingdoms’ map, just next to her. She darted him a look, and he simply smiled back. Though she had simply refused to even mention what happened the day before, he also simply refused to leave her alone ever since so they talked about things and other, including the possible outcomes of the war and their consequences on the kingdom. _Trying not to remember that Dorne is to become Stannis’ greatest thorn in his side,_ she thought.

It was a dangerous game she played, keeping him so close, but she had no strength left to fight him. It was completely useless to pretend she did not appreciate his company given that she _wanted_ his company. As well as the rest of his person. _Thank the gods there is not enough maids in this castle._ Otherwise one of them might have caught them in a delicate position this morning. She tilted her head and sighed.

 

“The Tyrells are ambitious, and as such, they fear their luck may turn.” She could almost feel Oberyn trying not to laugh. “Regardless, their power resides in two things: in their lands and in their family.

\- We can easily threaten their lands. We just need to invade their countryside,” Davos nodded. “I am not so sure we can besiege Highgarden, though.

\- We may not need to, if I do understand Lady Arryn’s point.

\- Prince Oberyn seems to understand you better than we do, my Lady. What is your point?”

 

Stannis was looking at her now, intently. She could not deny the pride she felt when he did – especially after what happened. She smiled and lowered her eyes on the map. They needed the Tyrells as allies, not as foes. If they managed to get their support, the West would be ensnared; the sea in the west, the Reach in the south and the Riverlands in the east. Once King’s Landing taken, they would not be able to correctly defend themselves on every front, especially if they managed to force Tywin Lannister to surrender. _Kevan would be easy to reason with, in these circumstances._

And it all depended on the Tyrells. She did not had any strong feeling for or against them, except a great strategic interest. The Reach was probably the only region able to support the whole kingdom during the upcoming Winter, the Vale set aside. _So they are way more important than they even know._

 

“I support your Hand’s opinion, majesty,” she begun. “We need to get them to understand that though we may not be able to besiege them, we can ruin their lands and their crops. But even that will not be enough to convince them, they know that their support is of paramount importance if we want to take the capital without killing half of our men.

\- This is no plan, this is a pessimist analysis of our situation.” Jon Snow frowned. “We had enough men to attack King’s Landing if we concentrate our forces there.

\- And how much time would it take, according to be, to break through the capital’s defence? Enough for the Redywyne ships to provide assistance and food, and enough for _our men_ to starve under King’s Landing’s walls. We will not succeed without inside help.

\- What do you suggest?

\- We have to get them to understand that their precious Margaery and the rest of their kin are not safe within the Red Keep, and that we could very well attack at any moment.”

 

She darted a look at the Commander of the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He gritted his teeth but nodded. _Discussing diplomacy and plots with a Northerner is like speaking in High Valyrian to an Iron Born,_ she thought. It was quite as useless in both cases. The conversation continued and they wondered which way to use to pressure the Tyrells – they quickly decided an official letter would be the easiest and the quickest way to get them to understand that war was way closer than the Lannisters could pretend. She lost herself in her thoughts when they started discussing the content of the letter, and could not help wondering what exactly was going on inside the Red Keep.

How could Tywin Lannister justify that his own sister had fallen into the enemy’s hands? Worse than that, how could he justify that he did nothing to retrieve her? If she were Mace Tyrell, she would fear of her daughter’s life – why would he do anything for her if he refused to do anything to aid his own blood? _He would not lift a finger if doing so could bring shame on his name._ As far as she was concerned, it was an useful shortcoming of his; he never officially admitted she had escaped, and it explained how she managed to never get caught. If he had accepted his defeat, he would have sent more men after her, and she would not have stood a chance. She smiled at the thought.

 

“I think Lady Arryn should write this letter,” Oberyn interfered, loud enough to startle her. “The impression will be even stronger.

\- This kind of missive will be more powerful if written by his majesty, not by me.

\- Except that you are the living proof that Tywin Lannister is not unerring.” Stannis nodded. “You will write this letter. The Tyrells know you and Tywin knows exactly what you are capable of.”

 

She blinked, but accepted. She did not really have the choice anyway – she was _supposed_ to accept. The council quickly ended and she returned to her room. She found parchment, ink and a quill on her dressing table. She sighed and sat. She uncorked the inkwell. She never thought she would ever _write_ to Tywin. Not like this anyway. _Be threatening, but disguise your threats,_ Stannis ordered. _Ask for the capital’s surrender. We will not obtain it, of course, but the Tyrells must understand the full extent of our power._

No less. She stared at the parchment for a while, unable to find any word to use. She eventually took a deep breath and dipped the quill into the ink. And wrote. Inspiration came as she was writing the first words and she reached the end before she realized she even begun. She stopped at the signature. Which name to use? Which one sounded the most powerful? Arryn, to show she was never defeated by the Lannisters? Or Lannister, to show that anyone bearing the name could not be trusted? She sighed, and put the quill back into the inkwell.

 

“Easier said than done,” Oberyn commented behind her back. “Even for you.

\- It is written. I simply do not know how to sign.

\- You hesitate between your maiden and married name?” She nodded. He took a chair and sat nearby. “Do you wish to hear my opinion?

\- Usually you do not even ask.

\- Then I shall give it to you. Shara Lannister never left King’s Landing. She is the one they talk about. They forgot Shara Lannister never even truly existed. Remind them of who you really are.”

 

She turned her head and looked at the prince of Dorne for a few seconds, surprised. Though she was starting to understand him a bit better, and though they had been sharing more than pleasantries these last few weeks, she never got used to his sudden surges of seriousness. But she smiled, nodded, and retrieved the quill to sign her name. _Lady Shara Arryn, Lady of the Vale._ She made sure the ink was dry before she read it again.

 

“Can I read it?

\- You shall hear its content with the rest of the council,” she said, not even raising her eyes from the letter. “Can you not wait a few hours?

\- Oh, so you are so assured that you do not even imagine that your missive may not please Stannis?

\- Still, you will wait for the council to be summoned again.” She eventually looked at him. He was staring. She sighed. “Very well, tell me what you think of it. You are quite obviously dying to do it.”

 

He had the decency not to look too victorious and nodded. She took a deep breath and read it out loud. _Lord Tywin Lannister. I suppose you will be surprised to see that this missive is not addressed to the usurper Tommen Baratheon but to you, as I suppose you will be surprised to recognize my handwriting, and not his majesty Stannis of house Baratheon’s._ She stopped to look daggers at Oberyn when he scoffed mockingly. _I remember you often said that I was and would remain a threat to the kingdom. Yet you opened my cell and believed I would not fly away. You were wrong, Lord Hand, and today I win and you lose. Your sister Gemma Lannister is kept prisoner by his majesty. The Freys have fallen from their pedestal. How much time do you think you have left, before our armies swarm King’s Landing? Tell me, Lord Lannister, does it not remind you of a distant past, a distant rebellion? His majesty wishes to offer you one last chance to prevent such a disaster from happening again: open the gates of King’s Landing to his army, and no harm shall come to any member of the royal family. Open the gates, Lord Hand, and you shall be treated with respect and honour. Resist and we shall show no more mercy than you showed the Targaryen royal family fifteen years ago._ She paused and continued. _This chance will not be offered twice._

She raised her eyes and met Oberyn’s. There was a small smile on his lips, darkened by the memory of what happened to his sister and her children during the Sack of King’s Landing.

 

“Impressive,” he commented. “If this letter is to be read in small Council, and it will be, I have little doubt on its effect on Mace Tyrell.

\- Stannis said it had to be threatening, but not violent. He did not want to take the risk for the letter to be hidden from the court.

\- You must truly hate Tywin Lannister to be able to write this kind of letter to him.

\- You know as well as I do the kind of hate I feel for Tywin Lannister.” She carefully folded the parchment. “So? Do you think Stannis will appreciate it?

\- He would be stupid if he did not. He would not have been able to write half of it.”

 

She rolled his eyes as he scoffed. Whatever Oberyn thought of Stannis, his opinion mattered the most, though she did appreciate his compliments. They both went to the council when the hour came and as he predicted, the letter was immediately accepted. It left the Twins in the first envoy’s saddlebag.

They all spent the following few days trying to agree on what to make of the south, avoiding very carefully the Dornish question. She did not participate in every councils, parting because she was not always useful, and partly because she could not stand the warlike speeches of some of the advisors, Jon Snow and Lord Alister Florent among them, advising to attack King’s Landing as soon as possible to surprise the Lannister’s forces. But she could not escape every council and, unable to take it any longer, she eventually intervened before everyone around fell asleep.

 

“King’s Landing is not within our reach yet, sire,” she insisted, with the persistent sensation that she had been repeating these words a hundred times already. “We do not have enough men to besiege the capital and our ships…

\- Who said anything about a siege? We want to take the capital, not kill everyone inside.

\- Then it is even truer. Your majesty, I already said that and I will say it again, but we need the Tyrell’s support to seize the iron throne. Our armies must turn to the Reach.”

 

She felt Florent’s frown weighting on her shoulders but she decided to ignore it. Stannis had many talented advisors, but he also had poor strategists around him – Alister Florent was one of the latter, on many accounts. Jon Snow was not, however. He was a smart advisor, he was simply too hasty. She exchanged a glance with Davos Seaworth, and he nodded. He knew King’s Landing better than she did, and knew how many men were necessary to take the city on land. And though the naval way was the easiest, the fastest and the most efficient way to seize control over the capital, they all decided to forget about this option entirely – their fleet was no nearly strong enough, and even if it had been, the Blackwater bay was not usable since the battle. The harbour was completely ruined and King’s Landing knew what to do against dangerous ships now – the Lannisters had good memory. _An excellent one, really,_ she bitterly thought.

 

“You speak of the Tyrells as if they were a panacea,” Stannis objected. “My Lady, lest you forget, they married their heiress to Joffrey.

\- They cannot ignore that this is a losing war, your majesty. They cannot believe anything positive will emerge of it.

\- Then why are they so quiet? Your letter arrived in King’s Landing a few days ago already.

\- Odds are that after our escape,” Oberyn let out, after not uttering a word for hours. “The Lannisters grew a little bit rigorous with their guests.”

 

 _Right?_ She nodded and leaned on the table. She stared at the pawns, trying to ignore her nausea fit. _There must be a way to contact them directly…_ All the Tyrells were not in the capital. The heir, Willos, still lived in Highgarden and his younger brother, Garlan, had gone to retrieve the Florent lands. The two men were no idiot, quite far from that. Maybe they could send a crow… Or a…

 

“Emissary!”

 

She jumped when the soldier rushed into the reception room, helping the emissary inside with him. She turned her head to Oberyn when she realized his condition. The man had been tortured; he was covered with scars and he barely managed to stand on his legs. He staggered a few more inches and collapse in Edmure Tully’s arms. She ordered to fetch water and to bring a seat, pre-empting both Stannis and the other Lords.

The poor man fell on the chair and hardly managed to catch his breath. He was holding a rolled up parchment and a heavy bag he refused to let go of. _Or maybe he cannot,_ she corrected herself. The strap was tied around his wrist and prevented blood from reaching his chalk-looking fingers. She winced and asked the maid to bring a pair of scissors to cut the ties. When she came back, she knelt and cut them, one by one. But he refused to release it and stared right at Oberyn with bloodshot eyes.

 

“Give us your letter,” Stannis ordered. “So you can rest.

\- Lord Tywin Lannister ordered that it had to be read by prince Oberyn Martell.

\- And I order you to…

\- Sire,” she tried, suddenly foreboding something sinister. “Maybe you should let the prince read it. For your safety.”

 

Oberyn rolled his eyes, thanking her for her _great_ concern for his own safety. She frowned – he did not risk anything. _Tywin is not going to poison a letter, especially simply to kill Oberyn._ It was Cersei’s type, not his. Stannis, brought back to reason but rather displeased by the situation, let the prince take the parchment.

He unsealed the letter and silently read it. It lasted an eternity, or so it seemed, and suddenly he paled. When she noticed the change, she closed her eyes. _What did he do?_

 

“Open the bag,” he ordered in a strangled voice. The emissary jumped. “EMPTY THIS BAG!”

 

The emissary obeyed, shakily. The bag was too heavy for the little strength he had left, and it fell off his hand on the stone ground. It rolled, rolled ever so slowly until the bag let go of its content. She kept still as every man around her yelped with either dread or dismay. Oberyn let go of the parchment. She felt a trail of cold sweat rushing down her spine. Her nausea returned, redoubled.

It was a head. A cut head, covered with dark and tangled hair, whose face was frozen in a terrified and painful expression. She did not need the letter to know exactly whom this head belonged to. _Ellaria,_ her mind cried. She gulped and clung unto the table behind her as she felt her legs going weak. Davos had retrieved the missive, and started to read it out loud, breaking through the horrified lingering silence of the room.

 

“Prince Oberyn. A woman for a woman. Tell my wife she has not won yet.”

 

And silence returned. Oberyn had fallen on his knees before the head, this once-beloved face now grotesque in its horror. She kept still, unable to move. Stannis ordered the emissary to be taken away and, either out of compassion, discomfort or sheer horror, ordered everyone to leave. A glance was enough to warn her that if she remained, it would be at her own peril.

She waited for everyone to be gone to head to the prince. _I know what he will tell me. That I caused it. That I killed her._ And he would be right to. Tywin Lannister had taken his sister, his nephew and niece, and now the love of his life away from him, and all of that for what? Wars that had nothing to do with any of them. Ellaria died to cover for their escape. _My escape._ She would not be dead if Oberyn had gone alone. She tried to say something, but uttered nothing.

 

“Gemma Lannister,” he hissed. “Where is she?

\- In a cell, with the rest of the Freys. Oberyn…

\- A sister for a sister. Send him her head.

\- Oberyn…

\- By the gods’ law, I have every right to!” He raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot too, feverish with pain. “She deserved none of that!”

 

Of course she did not. Who deserved this, except Tywin himself? _Except me?_ She gulped and fell on her knees next to him. She stared at this shapeless mass of hair, this grimacing face that did not even look human anymore. The sad remains of Ellaria Sand’s dead beauty. She told him she did not understand, not yet, why she stayed and let them go. _But I still do not understand._ She should not have stayed. Regardless of her obscure and mysterious reasons.

 

“The decision is Stannis’,” she slowly said. “I cannot…

\- Send it, Shara.” His eyes, plunged into hers, were burning with fury and hatred. “Send it and by the Gods I swear Dorne will follow Stannis to war.”

 

She opened wide her eyes and stared at him. Dorne never meant to support Stannis. _Everything has changed._ She said nothing for very, very long seconds. His burning eyes never left her. Though she did not why, though she did not know if she could, she nodded. At first barely, then more visibly. He closed his eyes and clenched his fist.

And she did all she could do. She circled his chest with her arms and drew him against her, away from Ellaria. _Everything has changed,_ she repeated in silence. _Tywin Lannister’s pride just signed his death warrant._


	29. A well-deserved Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! We're reaching the last few chapters of this fic now, thanks a lot for your support!
> 
> I already replied to a comment regarding it, but I guess it could be useful to everyone to know: regarding Ellaria, she was still in King's Landing because the Lannisters kept what remained of the Dornish party as prisoners when Tywin uncovered Oberyn and Shara's escape. As a punishment, obviously, but also as a guarantee for Dorne to remain neutral in the war. Let's just say it didn't work the way they all planned, right?
> 
> I'll leave you to this chapter, thanks again!

“Your majesty, we cannot miss this opportunity. If Dorne joins us, we can attack King’s Landing on every front at once. We do not even need the Tyrells anymore, we simply…

\- Is that how you managed to manipulate Lord Tywin, my Lady?”

 

She quieted and gritted her teeth. She had managed to get a private audience with Stannis, but things were not going as well as she hoped. It was not really due to her plan – queen Selyse was not getting any better, and maesters were losing hope of saving her. Of course dear Melisandre was at her side and tried to heal her, but none of that worked. She was sinking deeper and deeper into illness and people were whispering she might soon die of it. Shara herself was past this kind of question, and wondered _when_ she would die.

This, and the inability of the council to agree on what do to with the Reach angered Stannis way too much for him to indulge in her speeches. Her position was not comfortable at all; she tried to sooth Oberyn’s impatience, and tried to obtain Stannis’ agreement at the same time. She could not simply grab a sword, behead Gemma Lannister and send her head to Tywin. _Well, I could. I am not sure I would live long after that, though._

 

“I must admit that I had troubles understanding how a woman as young as you, a renowned traitor, managed to achieve her aims and slip through Tywin Lannister’s claws,” he continued. “But I think I just understood. You are quite bright, I have to grant you that, for it takes some wits to be able to present a self-serving plan as a selfless one.

\- Your majesty, if I may, none of that has anything to do with…

\- Of course not.” He turned away and paced the room. “None of that has anything to do with the fact that Oberyn Martell lost his paramour and desires a well-deserved vengeance.

\- Ma…

\- Lady Shara, I always had respect for your opinion and heeds every one of your advices. But do not confuse the kingdom’s best interest with your private life.”

 

She put up with the hit without flinching. She had seen worse – it was not the worst slight she ever received. But it was the first time she was accused of this kind of things. _He is right,_ and she would have granted him as much if she could have. Of course he he was right and she _never_ would have asked for something like that if Oberyn was not involved in the matter. She could not deny it.

But it did not mean that the idea was bad altogether. Quite dubious indeed, but not bad. She had spent the night trying to find elements to justify it and for once her sleepless night would be of use. She took a deep breath and slowly nodded.

 

“Your majesty is right on this matter,” she cautiously said. “But I would have never dared to suggest such an idea if it only served my… Personal interest.

\- I cannot imagine how we could beneficiate from Gemma Lannister’s execution, my Lady.

\- Tywin Lannister did not write a word, did not try anything to save his sister from your cells. As I already told you, the sheer idea that he will not do anything for her probably worries the Tyrells already. Imagine how strong the impact of her death could have on them.

\- You just said we would not need the Tyrells if we obtained Dorne’s support.

\- We would not _need_ them, indeed. But your wish was never to sacrifice your every man and King’s Landing’s people, sire, and if the Tyrells accept to remain passive, we may take the capital without turning the Blackwater red.”

 

It was the strongest of her arguments – the others were shakier, or rested on Stannis’ compassion. In both cases, she had very little trust in them. He stopped waling around and turned to her. She knew he was still very sceptical. His frown reminded her of his father when he was not satisfied with her behaviour. Or when she tried to lie to him. _I did not become a good liar for no reason._ The resemblance did not make it any easier.

He kept quiet for a long time, staring at her and searching for something in her face. She did not know what exactly. _My father?_ It was stupid. She had proved quite a few times already that she did not resemble him, by looks or wits. Then what? Who?

 

“Your father would disapprove of such scheme, even justified by something else than your infatuation with prince Oberyn,” he continued, evenly voiced. She was going to retort when he stopped her. “But your father, much like Eddard Stark, died because they disapproved of such scheme. It was not for lack of telling him that Robert had to be told, but he refused.

\- The children.

\- The children indeed. Though he cared less for them than Stark did. I doubt you know that, but when he realized he had been poisoned, he wrote a letter. To me.”

 

She could not pretend to be surprised – her father and Stannis maintained some semblance of correspondence. Back then, they were nothing but the Hand of the king and the Master of ships, and when Stannis was not in King’s Landing it was normal for them to remain in contact. This ploy allowed them, at least for a time, to set up a strategy regarding their discoveries on the true parentage of the _Baratheon_ heirs. Her father never voluntarily told her. She only heard about it thanks to the hole she had dug in the wall that separated their rooms, when he talked with Stannis.

And Jon Arryn knew, of course he knew, though she could not tell how. He knew enough for the Lord of Dragonstone to contact her directly a few days after his death to ask for her support, _in honour of their past friendship_. She never really knew when and why her father recommended _his daughter_ to his valued friend, but the pride she had felt when she had read the letter was such that she never asked any question. Maybe now was the time to ask them.

 

“I did not know.

\- He did not mention that he was dying,” Stannis explained. “But the way the letter was written was curious. Pressing. He wrote of dangerous foes of the crown, of a future war, of the upcoming Winter… And of you.

\- Me?

\- Lord Jon was perfectly aware that his only heir was a sickly child, with no chance to ever become a strong lord. Especially with his mother, really. And he was aware of what you were becoming.” He paused and eyed outside. Lost in his thoughts. “Instead of recommending your mother-in-law or some trusted men of his, he recommended you. He deemed you trustworthy, and able to finish what he had begun.”

 

She could not refrain from smiling. Jon Arryn never had the time or the will to say these things to her. She never tried to have him say them, aware that she would probably only hit an icy wall. And she could not help wondering if his upcoming death made him sentimental, or if he was simply turning mad. She dared not say anything. And he was not expecting anything himself.

 

“I trusted his judgement more than I trusted you for a long time. When I heard that you had married Tywin Lannister, I doubted you. I will not deny it. And then you reappeared, chaos in your wake and the hope of a victory in your arms. And you promised me your loyalty again.

\- Everything I did, I did for you, your majesty.

\- And for yourself as well.” He did not look disturbed by the thought. It was just a note. “I wonder, my Lady, to what I owe this loyalty when you seem to disregard every each one of this world’s values and everything your father accomplished.

\- You are the only rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms,” she replied, automatically. _This not the answer he wants._ “You trusted me when the whole world disregarded me.”

 

It was high time for her accept that Oberyn had guessed everything right. There was no use in lying to Stannis anyway. He eventually nodded and sat at his desk. He took a piece of parchment from the pile on the corner of his desk and looked at it. _Is he going to write the order?_ She could hardly believe it would be so easy. A few melancholic words on her father were enough for him to accept her otherwise bad plan? She kept alert, and she was right to, since he looked at her again.

 

“Oberyn Martell trusts you, it is quite obvious. Am I now competing with Dorne for your loyalty?

\- No, your majesty. But Dorne could be a precious ally.

\- Until their interests not longer match ours.” He grabbed the quill, his eyes still planted in hers. “When it happens, where will you stand?

\- Beside you, sire, as I swore I would.”

 

 _When, not if._ She was not the only one to know that Dorne would slip out of their hands sooner or later, apparently. She did not look away from the king for long, very long seconds, until a thin and almost invisible smile tempered the coldness of his eyes. Then he lowered his head, his eyes, and started to write.

She had won, and yet she did not feel victorious. How could she feel victorious to know that though Dorne would follow them to war, the alliance would not last? How could she feel victorious to have just sold a woman's head to obtain this weak alliance? _War is making monster of us all,_ she tried to think.  _Of me._ She gritted her teeth, and said nothing. She kept still, waiting for him to be done. When he put the quill down, he reread the order and threw sand to dry the ink. He asked for a candle. She brought it and watched him seal the parchment. He handed it to her, but did not let go of it when she grabbed it.

 

“You never belied your father.” She heard the warning in his voice. “Remain true to his judgement, my Lady.

\- Of course, sire.

\- Make sure Oberyn Martell sends my regards to Tywin Lannister.”

 

She smiled and nodded. _And there he is, pretending he wrote the order with a heavy heart,_ she tiredly thought. He let go of both her and the parchment and she immediately returned to Oberyn’s room. She could not name what she truly felt. She was satisfied, but she was not proud of what she did. The fact that Stannis implied that her personal inclinations clouded her judgment stuck in her throat, but then what he said about her father reassured her. She did not like the idea of going this far for _a man_ , even if said man was Oberyn, even for a relatively workable plan. She took a deep breath when she reached his door and knocked. A groan replied.

Truth be told, what really prevented her from being really happy of achieving her aims was the insidious doubt in her mind that Oberyn would never forgive her for Ellaria’s death. She had nothing to do in it, not directly anyway, and he never said anything to lead her to believe he blames her, but she could see it, she could feel it. He did blame her. _Rightly so._

 

“Shara,” he greeted her, seating by the window. “Did you finally decide what to do with our lords of roses?

\- Not yet.

\- Is Selyse getting better?

\- Not as far as I know.

\- You truly are a bringer of good news.”

 

She bit her lip. She had walked to him carefully and was waiting for him to turn to her. He did not look in mourning. He wore black, but not more than before. Though he had refused any presence in his apartments for two days straight, he did not seem to cry anymore. Or think about her. She knew enough of him to know that he hid his anger and despair beneath a veneer of indifference. He had waited for more than fifteen years to avenge his sister and her children – he was patient. More patient than an observer could tell. _I am no longer just an observer._ She handed him Stannis’ order.

 

“Gemma Lannister’s execution order,” she declared, her voice less even than she wished. “Signed by king Stannis.

\- What did you promise in return?

\- My unfailing loyalty. Nothing I had not promised already.”

 

He did not reply anything and stared at the parchment in his hand. He did not unseal it – not yet. He simply looked at it as one would stare at an oddity with no apparent use. He eventually nodded and raised his eyes on her. They were gleaming with determination. Satisfaction. And something else she could not name. _Affection?_ That was odd too. She kept still, unmoved in turn. When he reached for her cheek, she turned away. His hand stopped in mid air.

 

“Your unfailing loyalty involves my rejection?

\- No.

\- Then why do you deny me the right to thank the only person who ever endangered her position to help me?” He tilted his head. “It is exactly what Ellaria would have wanted.

- You to kiss another woman, less than a week after receiving her head? A woman that indirectly caused her death?”

 

His look faltered. It turned sad, then curious. Then understanding. She had followed his line of thought without really understanding what exactly explained it. He smiled softly and, this time, did not let her turn away when he planted a kiss under her eye. She closed them. It would have been a lie to pretend this simple kiss had not made her heart jump. _He knows what I feel for him._ She knew that too. It did not make any of this easier. Her mind never stopped whispering that they were dancing on embers, and that soon they would burn themselves alive.

 

“You feel guilty.” A mocking smile appeared on his lips. “That must be quite a new feeling for you, is it not?

\- I do not…

\- I do not think you felt so bad when Robb Stark and his armies perished within these walls, and yet you did absolutely nothing to prevent it from happening. I would even say that you encouraged it. There is more northern blood on your hands than one most Lannister's soldiers.

\- It has nothing to do with Ellaria. What happened here... It was war. For them and for me. And I do not feel…

\- Shara, that is enough. I know you well enough to know when you lie. Or at least, when you are trying to hide yourself behind fake reasons. Your guilt is just as obvious as your pain.”

 

She turned her eyes away. He did not insist but put the order on a nearby table, out of their grasp and their field of vision. Ellaria’s last words to her played in a loop in her head, as they had done for the last week. _You cannot understand. Not yet._ Understand what? That she felt no jealousy when she imagined his paramour running away with a younger, more beautiful woman? That she sacrificed herself without batting an eyelid for them to do so? She had forgotten these words, until... _Until her head._

 

“Ellaria knew the risks,” he continued, his voice sad and gentle. “I would love to be able to say that I had enough time to tell her everything I wanted to tell her, but I did not.

\- She did sacrifice for you. But she died because of me.

\- Dorne will avenge this murder.” His shining eyes belied the tone of his voice – the two did not match. “Gemma Lannister will pay in blood for what her brother did. As will Tywin when his time comes.

\- And I get away with this? With no price to pay? You just said I had Stark blood on my hands, now Dornish as well. Perhaps I am...

\- Ellaria loved me and I loved her. She loved you too, because you have this gift to inspire love in very little time. As for me…”

He shrugged, fatalistic, as if there was nothing to say anymore about it. _Really?_ She was going to retort when he sighed and forced her to look at him. She barely had time to comply before he kissed her lips, imperious as ever. She frowned but did not push him back. Once again her heart jumped, but she could not tell whether the kiss made it all better or worse. She almost would have preferred outright resentment to this strange kind of forgiveness she did not understand. When he released her, she tiredly rested her head on his shoulder and sighed too. She was fighting the tears in her eyes – and she was glad he could not see it.

 

“What you say makes no sense,” she whispered. “You have been hating Tywin Lannister and his Mountain for more than a decade, you almost started a war for your sister and your niece and your nephew and now you… Resign yourself?

\- I am not resigned. You are simply not responsible for what happened.

\- But I would be responsible if I did not manage to convince Stannis?

\- You are trying to reason with a Dornishman, my sweet, my beautiful Shara. I thought by now you would have understood that there is no use.”

 

She sat up, raising an eyebrow. His hand had gone from her cheek to her stomach, and he caressed his thoughtfully. She slightly tensed. She tended to forget what was going on inside of her, out of distraction and out of convenience. She had other things to do than to think about a child that would soon enough turn into a great problem. _Well, the father, anyway._

 

“How do you think Tywin will react?” he asked, distracted. “When he receives my gift?

\- No matter his reaction, as soon as Lady Gemma is dead we can start to move south. We cannot take the risk of his vengeance.

\- Dorne is awaiting Stannis’ orders. The Tyrells?

\- We shall see whether they contact us or if they simply decide to open King’s Landing’s gates, I guess.”

 

She shrugged and chuckled when Oberyn did. Whatever happened, it was too late to send anything to Highgarden and even if they could have, it was impossible to agree on _how_ to do it. She was confident, though; they would come. Their beautiful children were locked in the capital with a man who would not make a single move to protect them from the savage northerners who would soon swarm the city. _Unacceptable._ At least for the Queen of Thorns.

She stayed with Oberyn the whole day in a slightly lighter atmosphere. He did everything he could not to mention the many problematic subjects – her baby, their relation, Ellaria of course, Dorne and Stannis, Westeros’ future… But he talked about his daughters. His eight daughters, some young and others grown-up, some beautiful and others less so, at least in his words. His eight prides, in eight different ways. Of course, the conversation darkened when he told her of Ellaria’s and when he said he wished he could be with them to comfort them, but he quickly changed the subject. The shadow in his eyes did not vanish so easily, though.

As she listened to him, Shara’s thoughts wandered off. She could not help wondering _why_ he was there, with her, and _why_ she was there, with him. He was way older than her, in every way including the Westerosi, and he was Dornish. She was young, though everyone seemed to forget she was, and she was from the Vale. They were nothing alike. _Maybe this is it,_ she eventually accepted. But there was no question of her accepting it or not, they were way past this kind of questions and it was too late to ask them, because the fact remained: he was there, with her, and she was there, with him.


	30. Closer to the Edge

She did not attend Gemma Lannister’s execution. Oberyn did not wish to make it a spectacle and she hardly wished herself to see that much blood.  _Not that I would not owe her that much, but my presence will not change anything anyway._  Her nausea was subsiding, but she could not ignore her bouts of tiredness and weakness. Any observer could have guessed her true state simply by looking at her. And the queen’s condition was worsening every day. She could not say whether it was Stannis’ order or the maesters’ pessimism that led to the preparation of a pyre, on the other bank of the river. Needless to say that neither her Dornish paramour nor Vyman wanted her outside.

She was busy enough not to get bored anyway. Once Gemma’s head gone for King’s Landing, they began to prepare their battle plan. The Dornish army would obviously attack from the south – they had been careful not to give Tywin Lannister any reason to suspect they might have changed sides. As for the Baratheon fleet, it had already departed White Harbour to reach the Vale’s harbour to prepare the attack. The allied armies would all head to King’s Landing. The idea to besiege the capital haunted every mind – though they were well prepared and numerous, they would not maintain the siege for more than a month before casualties. On both sides.

They were sorting out the last details of the battle plan when a loud rumble spread around the Twins’ walls, amongst the officers and the soldiers. Stannis ordered one of his guard to go there and tell him what was happening, and half of the war council followed him. She stayed inside and went to the windows to witness a few cavaliers reaching the camp without any distinguishing feature on their armours and bearing not flag. She frowned. From where she stood, she did not manage to recognize the men.

 

“Are we expecting emissaries, your majesty?

\- I do not believe we do.” He went to the window as well. Baratheon soldiers were stopping the group from entering the camp. A figure – Ser Seaworth, probably, was heading to them. “How could they reach our camp without being stopped by our men?

\- Maybe they are allies?

\- I would not be too quick to jump to this conclusion,” Lord Florent hissed. “They bear no colours.”

 

 _How observant of you, Lord Florent._ She rolled her eyes and kept on staring at the scene. One of the cavalier jumped from his mount and walked to Davos. He had a limp and walked with a cane given by one of his fellows. _A limp?_ She frowned. There was not that many crippled knights in Westeros. She herself knew none. _No, not none. There is one…_ She was going to wonder whether she was hallucinating or not when she saw Oberyn pushing his way through the crowd to embrace the lame. _This is him._

 

“Sire, I think our last problem has just solved itself,” she declared with a smile. “In the persons of these riders.

\- What problem are you talking about?

\- Our Tyrell problem, your majesty. This is Lord Willas Tyrell, heir of Highgarden.”

 

There was a moment of surprised silence in the council room, before the king ordered the men to be brought inside. She turned away from the window and returned to her seat, between Oberyn and Lord Royce, waiting for them to arrive. She rose when they entered the room, greeted them, and exchanged a knowing glance with Davos. Once all the advisors at their seat, Stannis gestured the Tyrells to come closer. They did – very cautiously.

She fixed her gaze on Willas, more or less discreetly. He was a rather handsome man, though he could hardly be compared to his brother Loras. There was gentleness in his eyes, at least she imagined there very well could be given that gentleness was not really called-for at this moment. She recognized his brother Garlan nearby. The two men bowed stiffly.

 

“My Lord, we thank you for…

\- You are facing king Stannis Baratheon, first of His name, the only rightful king of Westeros!” Florent shouted out, his face red with outrage. “Not a simple lord…

\- Lord Florent.” She tried to sound as affable as possible. “Perhaps we can forgive this mistake from men who probably rode nights and days to see his majesty?”

 

He shivered when he understood the snub and retreated into silence. Stannis, as if he had heard nothing of what just happened, asked his men to settle the Tyrell’s guards into one of the many empty rooms of the castle. _Under the pretext of wishing to talk to the Reach’s heirs only,_ she mused. She caught Garlan’s eyes staring at her, before he returned to the king. Well, one of the many kings his family decided to support, anyway.

Davos offered a seat to Willas, in regard of his leg and the evident pain he suffered from, but he refused it. _Brave. Stupid, but brave._ Never demean yourself, especially physically, before someone stronger in any way than you. She could hardly blame him for that, given that her pride was everything she had left back in King’s Landing.

 

“My Lords Tyrell,” Stannis greeted them. “We were not expecting you.

\- It was intentional. No one could know that we wished to talk with you.

\- Here you are.” Oberyn rested his head on his closed feet, looking bored already. “And I think we all understood your point. Why do not rather tell us _what_ you want?

\- We are aware that we only seldom have been on the same side of a war, but…

\- Seldom meaning never, in our case.”

 

 _He is not going to make it easy._ The two brothers darkened and nodded. Tyrells and Baratheons always were on separate sides of wars. Stannis’ distrust with him had a reason. He had to survive a year-long siege, when Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redywine tried to take Storm’s End – he knew just how tough they could be. The two young men knew about his wariness and it explained their almost grovelling posture. She did not say anything.

 

“Our house’s wealth does not only rest on the lands your armies are threatening,” Willas continued, evenly voiced. “It also rests on our family’s unity. Our brother Loras and our sister Margaery are currently inside King’s Landing, at the mercy of any attack.

\- Are you begging us to spare them?” Jon Snow, awoken from his usual brooding and silent self, had sat up. “I do believe your armies did not spare his majesty’s during the Battle of the Blackwater.

\- In a war, deaths occur. It was not personal.

\- Our future attack on King’s Landing will not be either,” Stannis reminded him. _He loves that,_ she realized. “Why would I protect a house that not only once, but twice joined forces with my foes?”

 

Silence replied. The Tyrells could not appreciate the situation. They had been in a position of strength until now, able to negotiate three marriages with three different kings. They never had to beg a man they openly despised for years for protection before – and they would never have begged him if they did not fear an unavoidable demise. _That must be hard to know you are defeated._ She remembered how she felt when she accepted to bear the Lannister’s yoke on her neck. It was hard indeed. But she always knew she would find a way out, even on a knife’s edge. Once again, she remained silenced and let Stannis call the shots.

 

“Our house is wealthy, our lands are fertile and our men are numerous in the capital. You will need us once this war is over.

\- I will need your wealth, your lands and your men indeed. Not you, Lord Willas.

\- You will only need them if you survive,” Garlan intervened, boiling. “The Red Keep is filled with soldiers and food, you will not take it so easily.

\- Play your cards, my Lords.” She tilted her head. “This sparring match will not lead you anywhere.”

 

The longer this conversation lasted, the highest the tension escalated and the easier tempers would boil over. And no one wanted to see anyone boiling over. Stannis darted her a disapproving look, as if he would have greatly appreciated to toy with the poor men a little bit more, but he eventually nodded. Willas shelled out for a polite and grateful smile and limped to the council’s table. She had very seldom felt like gambling with the kingdom’s future – except when she talked with Tywin. _I gambled with my own future, though._

 

“Our house accepts to support you as much as it can if your majesty so promises to spare and protect those of us who live in King’s Landing.

\- Clarify your plan, Lord Tyrell,” Davos said. “We are listening.

\- Our men shall open the gates, our fleet shall turn against the Lannister’s.

\- You would betray the so-called king Tommen?

\- To protect our people, we shall.” Garlan’s hazel eyes were shining with anger and shame. “He would not do anything to protect our sister if need be.”

 

She nodded, with Davos, Edmure Tully and Oberyn. Stannis remained silent, his eyes on the two brothers. She suddenly saw exactly what they wanted to hide – today, in front of them, they were just two brothers, terrified that their sister might suffer the same fate as Elia of Dorne, and afraid that their lands might suffer the same fate as the Targaryens’. She darted a look at Oberyn. He was staring at the king, insistently. It was not surprising – their situation was one the Martells were not lucky enough to have, back then. Now that she knew them better, she knew that if they had been given any possibility to, they would have begged Robert Baratheon to spare the sweet princess and her children. She was not certain the plan would have succeeded, given that Tywin Lannister did not act on his orders, but even these unbowed, unbent, unbroken Dornishmen would have tried everything to save their princess.

After what felt like a lifetime, Stannis nodded and thanked both Tyrells. He ordered to prepare comfortable apartments for them, and to let them rest while the council deliberated. Still stiff but apparently relieved to not be sent to the chopping block, they bowed again and left. Florent did not even wait for the door to be closed to hiss again.

 

“I refuse to even imagine your majesty thinks this alliance is suitable. The Tyrells are traitors and they deserve death just as much as the Lannisters do.

\- The Tyrells came without being summoned to ask for our help. They ask for our protection only, nothing else,” she retorted. “This is unhoped for.

\- Unhoped for? The Tyrells should be punished, not protected!

\- Let us discuss sanctions when we can actually enforce them.” Oberyn frowned. “And I do not believe burning alive Lord Garlan and Lord Willas will beneficiate us in any way.”

 

This time, she really believed Florent would grab his sword and wiggle it around while yelling some gibberish about his god. He probably only refrained from doing so because the prince of Dorne glared at him coldly. She refrained from sighing and turned her head to Stannis. When he stood up, he gestured them to remain seated and paced the room up and down, all around the table. _Is he really pretending to be thinking this through to annoy his advisors?_ She raised an eyebrow and caught Davos’ interrogating look.

 

“I think I am rather familiar with your opinions on the matter,” Stannis declared, facing them again. “This being said, none of you can deny the Tyrells turned away from me twice.

\- The whole kingdom cannot be expected to have immediately chosen to follow you, your majesty.” She would have never dared to say something like that – only Davos could. “Robb Stark himself refused to support your claim, and yet his brother-in-law stands here by your side. I am no memory of Dorne publicly supporting your majesty, and yet a prince sits at this table.

\- And his army will help you take King’s Landing.

\- Sire,” Shara intervened before Oberyn went too far. “You know the Tyrells. You know how hard this was for them.”

 

Stannis nodded, slightly. She did not understand what stopped him from simply accepting their offer. Even if they had some ulterior motive – and they did have one, surely, they were in no position to negotiate. Or betray them. If they even tried to somehow work against Stannis’ interests, he would crush them, one by one if need be. This could all be over soon – why wait?

Davos was going to talk again when the doors opened on an exhausted maester. She raised a brow when he bowed deeply before the council and struggled to steady his breath. _What is… Oh._ He was one of queen Selyse’s maesters. _The late_ queen Selyse, given how despaired he looked. There was a long silence, and they all understood was happened. Stannis lowered her eyes, looking genuinely sad for a second, and clenched his jaw.

 

“Fetch Lady Melisandre,” he ordered. “And begin the preparations for her majesty the queen’s funerals.

\- M-Majesty, I am…

\- As for Tyrells, I shall let you know when I have taken my decision.”

 

He left the room in the racket made by the chairs scraping the floor as everyone stood up. Davos rushed to follow him, while the others simply left the reception hall. The maester brought up the rear when he actually managed to catch his breath. She watched them do so, thoughtful. She was not exactly saddened by Selyse’s death – she barely knew her. She was no court woman and no true wife, really. She was pious to a fault, half-mad and without any wits to make up for her complete lack of beauty. But she was Stannis’ wife and she owed her at least a second or two of genuine mourning for that.

 

“Are you already picturing yourself as a queen?” Oberyn asked, sitting on the edge of the table. “The crown would become you.

\- Do you take me for a cold monster, my prince? Someone who could dream of a crown when a woman just died?

\- Come now, you would not have the audacity to pretend the idea did not occur to you.

\- I affirm it did not.

\- And I do not believe you. But anyway.”

 

He shrugged, a laugh in his voice and a smile in his eyes. She rolled her eyes and left the room, Oberyn on her heels. She was almost surprised to see him hand her his arm, but took it. He led her outside, on the other bank of the river, where the camps had not spread yet. Though winter was indeed coming in Westeros, the sun was shining. The Trident shone as if it was covered with diamonds and snow stuck to the wild grass along the river. The whole scenery was beautiful, really. It was quiet too; they could barely hear the soldiers’ voices on the other side, or the Red Woman’s orders. _I suppose she is giving some, anyway._ She knew that they all would attend Selyse’s pyre at night. The idea turned her stomach, as if it needed more reasons to be turned.

 

“How do you feel?” Oberyn said, tearing her from her thoughts. “Maester Vyman is quite…

\- He wants me to spend my days bedridden. It is simply out of the question.

\- Most of women in your condition…

\- I thought I was not most women?” She raised an eyebrow. “I do not wish to have this conversation.

\- Simply because you decided to ignore you are expecting a child does not mean you are no longer, Shara.”

 

 _As if I ignored that,_ she silently groaned. The few weeks that had passed since Vyman told her she was with child had been enough for her body to change. At first it was only tiny details, her bodices turning too tight around her breasts for example. But now she was starting to show and her dresses hardly fit anymore. Her maid, as discreet as she was, knew what was happening but said nothing. She simply searched for bigger, larger dresses to hide her swollen stomach.

Sometimes she did forget about it all, really; she forgot she was with child. But somehow she always remembered. Though she tried to ignore the signs, the tiredness that came earlier, the nausea, the cravings for food, she could not ignore that now, _she was_ showing. It would not be long before anyone who had not already understood actually saw the evidence.

 

“If Stannis accepts the Tyrells’ help…

\- And he will.

 _\- When_ he accepts it,” he corrected with a smile. “We will head to King’s Landing, right?

\- I suppose we will. It is high time for the war to end.

\- Where will you go?

\- With my army and my king.” She stopped him before he had enough time to protest. “Nothing of what you may say will make me change my mind. So please, spare us the ordeal.”

 

He scowled. She had troubles understanding what exactly made him so protective, except that the child might be his. But it did not explain the amount of concern he showed. She was with child, not sick. And she refused to be hindered by this… Accident that should have never happened in the first place. She could not get rid of it, so she would everything she could to ignore it. As for the future…

She would think of the future _in the future._ First the war, and then the child. They kept silence for a long time, but kept on walking alongside the water. She gritted her teeth. If not for her pride, she would have asked to return to the castle. She suddenly felt exhausted, as if these few feet of walk had drained her – as if the sheer mention of her pregnancy had been enough to remind her body it was weak. She gulped and pretended she was fine until she sensed her legs going weak.

 

“Let us return to the castle, shall we?” she declared, her voice falsely assured. “It is quite cold.

\- Of course. Do you…” He stopped when he looked at her. “You are pale, Shara.

\- As I always am.

\- Spare me, will you?”

 

He frowned and tightened his grip on her arm. She looked away but let him, aware that she would not be able to return to the castle without him. He eventually placed an arm around her waist and almost carried her to her room. She prayed the whole time for no one to see her like this and collapsed on an armchair when they reached her apartments. She ran a hand across her face, cursing herself for such weakness. Oberyn vanished and returned with his new best of friend, maester Vyman. He examined her, not even listen to her justifications. When he was done, he darted her a look both worried and disapproving. He really stared at her as he would have stared at a capricious kid.

 

“You need to rest, my Lady. You cannot simply spend hours attending every council in your condition, his majesty…

\- His majesty,” she stopped him, bitter. “Does nothing of my And I wish not him to.

\- You health is more important than this war, my Lady.

\- My health, maester Vyman, does not endanger Westeros’ people. So long as it remains true, then no, it is not more important than the war.” She stared back at him. “Thank your for your advice.”

 

Defeated, the maester bowed and left not without darting one last fixed glance at Oberyn. Shara sighed and shook her head. She would have given _anything_ not to find herself in this position. She dared not look at the Dornishman, fearing she might see exactly what she did not want to see. _I told you so. Something of the sort._

 

“Do not say it,” she warned him. “Or I have you out of my room.

\- Well, can you even stand?

\- Silence.” She winced. “I need rest. Selyse’s pyre will take place tonight and I doubt Stannis will want to wait any further to head to King’s Landing.

\- You are incurable.

\- And you are unbearable.”

 

They exchanged a long look before he sighed and left. She closed her eyes for a while and put her hand on her stomach. _Never do that again,_ she bitterly thought. She knew things would only go downhill from now. She did not have any remembrance, but did her mother not die giving birth to her?


	31. The day before

She attended the pyre under Oberyn’s black look. She attended, and did not falter. Maybe it was sheer pride that kept her standing, or maybe she simply felt better. She spent the whole ceremony staring at the Red Woman. She looked much less confident than she usually did. She was losing more than a queen, she was losing her greatest support. Maybe his only remaining, except for Stannis himself and a few sycophants around him. The rest of his advisors, whether her, Davos or Edmure Tully cared very little for this religion at best, or despised it at worse. She personally had no real opinion on it, but she hated pyres. _The smell, gods, the smell._

The ceremony did not last long, though. No one was really saddened by the queen’s death, for lack of even knowing her, and those who actually did know her, for lack of being close to her. Of course, princess Shireen was the saddest of all, but Shara did not considered proper to offer her condolences on his mother’s death. The girl needed solitude, calm and her father – not another unknown woman to pretend to be as sad as she was. She seemed to go along with Lady Sansa, and the girl brought her back to her room when Stannis asked everyone to return to their activities. _She could almost be some substitute mother,_ she mused, following the rest of the advisors. Stannis stopped her when he called her.

 

“Lady Shara, a word if you please.” He waited for her to return and to bow, but stopped her again when she was going to offer her condolences. “I know. Let us skip this part, shall we?

\- As your majesty desires.

\- I talked with Lord Willas,” he said. In the darkness around, she could not tell whether he was satisfied or not. “A wise man, beyond his age.

\- That is true, sire.” Cautious, she dared not go too far. “Did something interesting emerge from your conversation?

\- Positive things as far as you are concerned, although I am not so certain Ser Florent would agree.”

 

 _So he did accept their offer._ She refrained from smiling and nodded. A bit stiffly, he offered her his arm. She took it, and they moved away from the remains of the still-fuming pyre – _thank the gods,_ and walked to the Twins. Its figure barely stood out of the surrounding night and she barely managed to distinguish the two towers and the wavering light of the few candles lit in the occupied room. She kept quiet for a while, before deciding to ask him more details on the offer he accepted.

 

“Lord Willas promised us the Redwyne fleet’s support. He wrote the order and sent it while I was there.

\- When will the fleet intervene?

\- Once the city partially taken,” he replied. “They will redo their Battle of Blackwater’s feat, only this time it will be in our favour.

\- Do you deem them trustworthy?

\- It is quite strange to hear you ask this question, my Lady, given that you have been rather vocal on your support of this alliance.”

 

He stopped and turned to her. She had not really made a mistake, she simply asked the wrong question. _Of course_ , they were trustworthy – the severity of their situation would have made any house involved in the wellbeing of its members trustworthy. She wanted to know if he accepted this alliance because _he_ deemed them trustworthy, or because he trusted her judgement. The latter did not please her as much as she thought. If things went south, she would pay for that. She shook her head and continued.

 

“Of course, sire. I would have never put this plan forward if I had no trust in the Tyrells.” She paused. “I was merely asking for your personal impression.

\- You fear I took this risk because you suggested it, Lady Arryn.

\- You majesty would never be so reckless.

\- And yet it is the point of your question,” he retorted. He did not sound really annoyed. “The Tyrells are just as elusive and dangerous as the Martells are. But our situation is such that we have to trust them. For now, at least.”

 

Her heart slightly tightened when he mentioned Dorne, but she shrugged off the pain. _For now at least,_ everything was fine. _For now at least,_ Stannis Baratheon was followed by six of the seven great houses of the Westeros, the Iron Born excluded given that they were not part of the war anyway. The Lannisters were surrounded in their own castles. The only thing they had left was too much pride and the Westerlands – but they would soon be surrounded too.

Then why was she so worried? Because they only spoke of short-term events. _Of course_ they would win the war, they were too powerful now to fail. _Of course_ Stannis would sit on the iron throne, no one could resist him anymore. _Of course_ she had won her own war against Tywin, his genius would not be enough to protect his house. But after that, what would happen? Littlefinger threatened her own Vale. The Others threatened the North. The West would remain hostile to the crown for one or two generations at least, if there remained at least one Lannister to rule it. Dorne would pretend to bend the knee, but its eyes were already looking at Essos and the girl with dragons. The next few weeks, months, maybe the next year would be victorious. But what about the rest of them?

 

“You should rest, my Lady,” Stannis declared. “I made sure we can leave in the morrow.

\- Of course, sire. What about the Tyrells?

\- They will go with us, but head to the Reach. Their crows are preceding them anyway.” He released her arms and nodded. She bowed. “Good night, Lady Shara.

\- Good night to you too, your majesty.”

 

She waited for him to be gone to the tents to return to the castle. She let her maid prepare her for sleep. Oberyn was not there – if Stannis gave the order to get everything ready, he was probably writing some missive to his brother. The Dornish armies would have to leave early to make a pincer attack on the capital by south, while they arrived by north. The western flank would be attacked by what remained of the Baratheon fleet, then by the Tyrells once the army would be inside the city. The only unknown element remained the east flank, but they all considered their army to be numerous enough to cover it.

 _There is another unknown, though._ The Westerlands’ armies. They had not yet heard of any move from the Lannister army. The most optimistic of the advisors considered that they would not move, the most pessimistic already imagined their men trapped by the soldiers of the West. The most realistic, and she was part of them, thought that at least half of them would either attack them or defend the city, but that Tywin Lannister _could not_ leave the West and the Rock undefended.

The journey to King’s Landing was complicated, but calm. They rode through the Riverlands, pacified already but made impracticable by the bad weather. They were slowed down but refused to ever stop. It was king Stannis’ order. They could neither stop nor back up, it was simply out of the question. There was only one man satisfied of the quite literal mire the armies were sinking in: Oberyn Martell. She had no other choice than remain in the horse-drawn carriage with Shireen and Sansa Stark, every horse being used for the generals and the equipment. He appreciated to know that she spent her days resting, willingly or not, even if it meant that he could not keep an eye on her.

 _As I had no enough eyes kept on me already._ When Sansa Stark was not telling stories to Shireen or speaking of Winterfell, she asked about her _condition_ every ten minutes. She did not need to clarify what she meant, the two women understood each other entirely. And it did not reassure Shara. If Stannis had not already understood, it would not take long – unless someone told him directly. The more she rested, the more she showed. _He will not let me participate in the attack._

The idea never left her mind as they managed to reach more usable roads. Once out of the Riverlands’ mud, their advance turned gradually simpler and steadier. Really, things did not get any better as they got closer to the Crowlands – they were also getting closer to the Lannisters. Every night, as the men set up the camp and counted the miles they had left to travel, she helped as much as she could, wrapped in enough coats to hide her swollen stomach, but her mind was back to the Red Keep already. These months gave her the feeling that Tywin Lannister was distant, harmless and that maybe she could forget it all, for it was not so important anyway – it was all wrong. She only had to close her eyes for one second to see his face, to hear his threats and remember every time she danced on the edge of the blade, and the moment when she almost fell. Every time she did remember it all, she felt Oberyn’s eyes on her as if he _knew._ And he knew, she was certain he did. But they had no time to talk about it. There was too much to do.

Their arrival in the Crownlands was not nearly as complicated as she imagined. Most of the subordinate houses they came across did not even try to stop them, and those that tried barely managed to slow them down. They stopped half-a-day away from King’s Landing, in Hayford, and they met with very little resistance. _A baby cannot prevent us from settling in her castle anyway._

They used the great table of the ballroom to lay the usual map of Westeros, though it was now in a very rough state, and place their pawns. She observed the scene, arms crossed on her chest, and watched the map being covered with pawns representing every allies houses. She had a smile when she saw the Arryn falcons alongside the Tully trout and the Stark wolves. _Do not be stupid,_ she cursed herself. _You would not even have a say if you did not have these armies with you._ Still. She had dreamt her whole life to rule her house, the Vale and its people. It was just so obvious now. _Lady Shara Arryn, lady of the Vale._ She could not refrain from smiling again.

 

“It is quite rare to witness you smiling, my Lady,” Oberyn commented as he walked to her. She noted that he had stopped using her name when they were amongst other people. _Just as well like this._ “Especially lately.

\- Lately the war required more than sheer smiles, my prince. But I suppose we do have the right to rejoice to see it coming to its end.

\- The prospect of finally getting exactly what you wanted for so long must truly delight you, indeed.”

 

He was watching the squires placing the Martell suns underneath the capital. The Dornish armies had already crossed over the Reach to get to the Roseroad, though they did encounter some resistance, and were now stationed in the kingswood. Doran had sent a numerous army, but obviously not _the whole_ army. He had enough left to force Stannis’ hand if he happened to refuse them Tywin Lannister’s head. _If he does refuse, I will force his hand myself,_ she mused. She remained silent for a while until she felt Oberyn’s warm hand grazing her now visibly swollen stomach. They exchanged a long stare before he continued.

 

“You do not sleep very well and the little sleep you get is restless.

\- Probably because I am not so tired these days. I hardly do anything in the carriage.

\- You have nightmares, Shara,” he clarified, frowning. “I do not share your bed only because I do not appreciate loneliness.

\- Do not make me say what my nightmares are about, you already know.

\- Then it is a good thing that the war is almost over.”

 

She turned her head to him. He did not look angry – not against her, anyway. _Against Tywin?_ She wondered when exactly his curiosity had turned into interest, and this interest into actual affection. She did not even know when her own curiosity turned into affection either. She was not even sure there was a moment to be spotted. It was reassuring as much as it was terrifying to have someone with her _angry_ because she had nightmares. But she smiled, because perhaps it was more pleasant than it was scary. And he relaxed – just a bit.

When Stannis entered, already wearing his armour, he gestured everyone to simply sit and skip the bowing part. She grabbed the Tyrell roses and placed them all around the Blackwater bay’s entrance.

 

“We just received a crow from the Redwyne fleet. It is stationed, only waiting for our signal to attack,” he declared. It was the first time Shara noticed a shine in his eyes – determination. “The Martell armies are also ready to attack when time comes.

\- What about the West’s armies?” Jon Snow was looking at the east flank, still left uncovered. He was amongst the pessimistic ones. “We still have no information?

\- Rumours have reached us. Some of their men would be hidden in the nearby villages.

\- If it true,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “There cannot be a lot of them. Except if most are already inside King’s Landing.”

 

 _Except we have no idea if they are._ It is exactly what the looks she received meant. As no man likes to admit that he does not know, they changed the subject and started to prepare the attack. They had to attack the three northern gates at once, the Iron Gate, the Dragon Gate and the Old Gate. The first and last ones were in a very sorry state and they probably would not resist very long – the second one was more resistant, so they would only block it. The Lion and the King Gates were left to the Dornish men. As for the last important gate, the one that opened on the harbour, it was left to their fleet and to the Tyrell’s. Davos left them a few days ago to head to his own ship and lead the naval attack.

 

“As for the royal family,” Stannis continued once the attack throughout planned. “It shall be judged in its entirety. The Tyrells shall be protected, regardless of what Ser Florent wished upon them.” The man let out a groan. “Whatever it takes, Tywin Lannister must be kept alive.

\- What about the Regicide? He will fight alongside the city’s army.

\- If he can be taken alive, then do so, but no life is to be sacrificed for his.” Silence replied. He nodded and stood. “Very well. I urge you to get rest, my Lords. Tomorrow shall be a long day and we will surely need all the stamina we can get.

\- Your majesty will be crowned,” Edmure Tully declared, a cheerful smile on his lips. “And we shall do our best to guarantee your victory to be as full as possible.”

 

She almost saw a smile appearing on Stannis’ lips before he starkly nodded to thank Lord Tully. _He likes that more than he says, the loyalty._ He did not know how to inspire it other than by being a good war leader, and though the technic was nowhere near perfect, it gave him many trustworthy men’s loyalty. _And a woman’s too, I suppose._ He stared at her for a few seconds, before he turned his head to Oberyn to ask him to follow him outside. Surprised, she turned to the Dornish prince who simply nodded back without a look for her. He and Stannis never talked to each other alone, simply because they never had any reason to. It had nothing to do with any hostility from any of the men, but rather with the fact that Oberyn took no decision regarding Dorne, so Stannis had hardly any reason to summon him.

She watched them both leave the room, and so did she. She headed to the little room she had been given and sat on the bed, her head spinning with both worry and dizziness. She had spent so much time idle, talking with Shireen and Sansa that she felt incredibly weak now that she could actually move and walk. Though it was not so cold inside the castle, she was shivering under her furs. _Why should I feel so terribly weak when I am finally reaching the end of this war?_ She truly felt drained, and maybe that is exactly what happened to her. She ran a distracted hand on her stomach and sighed. She did not manage to accept it. It was as if Stannis accepted to surrender at the very moment he should have won – it made no sense. For her, at least, it made no sense.

She was dozing off when she heard the door opened again. She sat back and saw Oberyn entering the room, seemingly quite relaxed. _Oh, well. That is a good sign, I presume._ He looked outside to see the camp almost set up. They were lucky they did not lose any man or any horse in their journey from the Twins; the armies were almost intact and almost well rested, despite the miles they crossed over. _Everything is fine. For now, at least._ The time limit of her certainties made her shiver more than the supposed coldness of the room.

 

“What did Stannis want from you?” she asked when she understood that he was not going to make it easy. “You talked for a long time.

\- Not so long. I received another crow from our army, they are all ready.” He sat nearby. “So I simply replied that we would launch the attack in the afternoon of tomorrow.

\- You are not replying.

\- You are a smart woman, Shara. What do you think Stannis wanted to talk about with me, though we never talked directly ever since we both arrived?”

 

 _About me._ How could she ignore that? _I thought about it, I just refused to think it possible._ She scowled and sighed. She had played with fire long enough, it was high time for her to accept that she had to burn herself at some point. Oberyn looked at her for a while before sighing too and running an arm around her shoulders. He drew her closer to him. She rested her head on his shoulder. _When have we become… That?_ She could not help asking the question, though she found no answer to it. This kind of tender moves were not so usual. _No, they are getting usual._ But she considered it motivated by her pregnancy and his concern.

 

“I reckon he understood.

\- He understood long ago, longer than you may think possible,” he replied. “But he had only had suspicions and he did not considered himself knowledgeable enough on the subject to be certain.

\- What did he say?

\- He has a war to win, Shara, so your child is the least of his concern.

\- This child may be Tywin Lannister’s,” she retorted, frowning. “Its existence could upset Westeros’ entire political landscape.”

 

He burst out into laughter, the kind she had not heard from him ever since Dorne. She wanted to follow him – and she would have, if he were not laughing at her. She frowned even further and sat up to look daggers at him. It did not calm him at all, quite the contrary. When he _finally_ accepted to stop laughing like a child of ten, he started to caress her hair as he would have done to a capricious child to be calmed down or taken off her high horse.

 

“Ah, Shara,” he let out, a laugh in the voice. “Your self-confidence is truly astonishing. No one else but you can declare with such assertiveness that her child to be born will revolutionize the whole kingdom.

\- It is true, Oberyn. And you know it.

\- It remains greatly amusing.

\- Enough with that.” She sighed and returned to rest against him. “What did he want to tell you about me?

 - He wanted us to be the first to enter King’s Landing once it is taken. To ride by his side, I mean.

\- He is not moving me away from the capital?” she asked, surprised. “I thought…

\- He also ordered me to remain by _your_ side the whole attack. You are too powerful a symbol to be moved away, especially with child.”

 

She kept quiet, startled. She thought she would have to remain in Hayford with Shireen, Sansa and the other women, and she thought she would have to watch the battle from afar. Any other man would have ordered her to. _Except Stannis._ Of course. He could not take the city without exhibiting Tywin Lannister’s wife, the woman who escaped the capital to join his side, a woman strong enough to ride while pregnant.

Yet riding a horse worried her still. Oberyn did not need to know that, since she was quite certain the idea did not please him anyway, even if she rode sidesaddle, even to walk. She remained silent, but eventually decided to lance the boil.

 

“I imagine this prospect hardly pleases you.

\- Obviously it does not, a woman as pregnant as you are has no place on a horse in the middle of a devastated city.” He did not sound so worried, or annoyed. “But you would have come even if he had told you to stay here. At least I will be able to keep an eye on you.

\- Instead of fighting alongside your men?

\- My life is far from over. I will have other occasions to fight.”

 

He shrugged. She sometimes forgot that Oberyn Martell’s life was not limited to fighting. _No, it is limited to fighting, fucking and eventually protecting those he considers family._ There was obviously a hierarchy in these considerations, and she could not refrain from smiling when she realized she was on the top of the list. _This is mawkish, Shara._ And true nonetheless.

She had no idea what would happen in the morrow. It was impossible to know, but what she could be certain of was that things would quickly change. All they could do until then was to make the most of their last simple evening. _For now at least_ everything was fine. _Let the Flood come to us._

 


	32. Bittersweet Symphony

She had been told it would take half a day to reach the capital and indeed they only rode a few hours before King’s Landing appeared. Shara was obviously not part of the vanguard that left at dawn with Stannis, Edmure Tully, Jon Snow and Nestor Royce to whom she had given the Vale’s army’s lead. She had watched them leave with half of the cavaliers, followed by most of their foot-troops. Only the few women left, the Red Woman excluded, and the wounded soldiers remained in Hayford.

When she indeed left, late in the morning, she was followed by a few of her men ordered by Royce to protect her if need be. Oberyn disliked the idea of not being left alone with her, but he did not really do much against Royce’s order; he knew that they would travel more or less alone through the Crownlands still officially ruled over by the Lannisters as the last battle of the War of the Five Kings raged. _Five kings… More like two and a few vague hopes here and there,_ she mused. To stand out as least as possible, she travelled covered with a cape, sitting on a cart more adapted to animal or food’s transportation than it was to people – but she could not ride a horse more than strictly necessary. Oberyn had accepted to hide his face under a scarf and they journeyed to King’s Landing mostly unidentified.

When they arrived, they found the battle at its peak. They joined the generals, apart from the fights and perched at the top of a small hill. Shara admired what was taking place under her eyes. Though they were too far from the city to really see what was happening, it was obvious that it was completely surrounded. She vaguely distinguished Davos’ ships; they were already cannonading the harbour. She heard from afar the battle’s sounds, shouts and clashing swords. A few men had left the city to attempt to repel the assailants. _Here they are, the West’s men._ She noticed no Tyrell soldiers and felt relief at the idea that they were keeping their promise and helping them enter the city. At least they did not make it any more complicated.

 

“I must admit,” Ser Florent let out. “That the attack is going… Surprisingly well. Of course the three trebuchets are causing great damages and I think one of our ships is in distress…

\- Aside from that, everything is going well.” Oberyn rolled his eyes. “Of course catapults cause damage. War causes damages.

\- What Ser Florent means,” Lord Tully quickly intervened before the two men jumped at each other’s throats. “Is that we were expecting more resistance. The city’s gates will soon be taken and opened, and when it is done…

\- It is over. Unless their plan is to precisely get us to think it is.”

 

She frowned. She was expecting a victory, of course, but not so easy a victory. There were not enough men to defend the city. The City Watch, a few hundreds of Lannister soldiers were not nearly enough. _Why would Tywin leave the city undefended, that makes no sense…_ Even if he had mounted ambushes inside the city, they would be of no use against an entire army. Lost in her thoughts, she jumped when she heard howls. The guards were pouring boiling oil over the walls. _At least they try to resist._ But still it was not enough, and stupidly so.

Stannis Baratheon was renowned for his strategic talent and it was all he was known for before the war broke out. The only man who could fight him back was none else than Tywin Lannister himself, not necessarily through military strategy but because he knew how to make the most of his own weaknesses and his enemies’. He would not have flooded Castamere if he did not have the same genius as Stannis. _A genius would not fight back like this._ Even Tyrion Lannister had been a better strategist during the Battle of the Blackwater. _Though his plan did not succeed entirely,_ she thought. _I made sure of that._ So why? 

She was trying to understand his plan when she heard other howls. When she raised her eyes, she saw entire floods of men rushing _into_  the city. She opened her eyes wide and turned to the generals who visibly did not know whether they were happy, worried or caught in disbelief. There was a moment of hesitation before they all jumped on their horses and rushed under the capital’s walls, where most of the soldiers were alongside Stannis who insisted to be as close to the fights as possible. Shara rode behind Oberyn who obviously did not spur his horse to go as fast as the others. Once arrived, she almost jumped off the mount and headed to Stannis. Though he remained near the vanguard under the fortifications, he did not seem to have fought. _Someone needs to give orders, anyway._

 

“Sire,” she greeted him, bowing quickly. “None of this looks good to me. Tywin Lannister would have never left the city undefended for no reason.

\- I know. I ordered the men to remain by the gates, we will enter the city with some of them and the rest will follow. You will bring up the rear, my Lord.

 _\- We?_ Your majesty, you cannot enter the city before we…

\- I thank you for your concern, Ser Florent.” Stannis hardly even looked at him and took his helmet off. His face was stained with blood everywhere the helmet disclosed skin. “But this is no time to remain hidden behind my men. This city belongs to me, as does the entire kingdom. Lady Shara, prince Oberyn, I expect you to follow me.”

 

She nodded without a word, trying to ignore the gnawing worry that tore her insides. She exchanged a long gaze with Oberyn. He shook his head, disapproving. He helped her settle on her horse and made sure it was calm and would not panic at any loud sound. She smiled, trying to sooth his concern, but she was too troubled herself to be convincing. She joined Royce and ordered him to take every decision he saw fit if things… _Went south._ He agreed and beseeched her to be careful. She nodded back.

Stannis did the same with Lord Edmure Tully; if anything happened inside the capital, the troops’ direction would come down to him. But whatever happened, they had to keep to the original plan. Take the city, jail the Lannisters, protect the Tyrells. _With or without any of us._ When he rode his stallion, she joined his side and their horses slowly made their way through the crowd of soldiers yelling their joy. She felt her throat getting tighter as they reached the Old Gate and made their first steps on the city’s pavement.

The group of soldiers they entered with was ordered to kill any soldier who did not run away and tried to attack. _Run away, but where?_ Their horses walked in the middle of the capital’s empty streets. A few windows opened as they passed, a few brief looks followed them, but a deathly hush loomed over the city. _A city at war is not silent until everyone is dead. Where are they?_ She tensed on her mount’s reins. The further they walked in, the more gates gave in to the allied armies. Small groups of soldiers followed them in. There were fights, of course, but they were ludicrous short and uneven. She gritted her teeth and gulped.

They walked past the Dragonpit and reached the Great Sept of Baelor. She turned her head and looked at it for a few seconds, reminiscing the last time she saw it, for Margaery Tyrell and the late Joffrey Baratheon’s wedding. And before that… Before that… _My own wedding._ The streets were crowded, back then. The city lived. _Why is it dead?_ She turned her head to Oberyn Martell, unable to keep her fear for herself, and he did not look any more serene than she did. She felt like stepping straight into a trap, alone with an armourless prince of Dorne and a future king that did not yet gave the order to enter the city to most of his men. _I would die rather than return to the gaols,_ she promised herself as they finally walked past the Sept and headed to the Red Keep.

She did not immediately saw what was happening behind them, focused on the great red figure of the Lannisters’ last refuge. If truth be told, she saw none of it until she heard her name shouted - _Shara!,_ and until someone tore her away from her horse. She only had enough time to cling unto this someone before the entire city started to quake under her feet. This time, silence broke and everyone cried, yelled and howled.

Taken as far away as possible from the square they had just walked past, she opened wide her eyes when she understood what had happened. _The city is not quaking._ Wide-eyed, she saw the Sept of Baelor devoured by monstrous green flames. _No, it is exploding._ Detonations echoed everywhere at once and its immense spires wobbled and fell on the nearby buildings with another fit of screams. When she turned her eyes to the Dragonpit, she witnessed the same spectacle of flames licking the sky, explosions and destruction. The ruin had sunk into the ground, surrounded by green dust and a cloud of debris that now fell from the torn skies.

 _Wildfire._ It devoured everything, men, animal and buildings alike and it ran through every street until it wore out. She almost suffocated, but it was out of shock. She had never seen anything like this, never seen so much destruction falling upon a city in so little time. She was witnessing a spectacle as terrible as it was fascinating. She dared not look away from the plumes of smoke that gradually replaced the flames.

She thought about it, of course – but they all thought that Tywin Lannister would never use it _inside_ the city. They imagined he would use it against their ships, against their men. But it did not happen, and they all hid their surprise. And now they all witnessed the city’s destruction with the same wildfire that could have slowed them down – destroyed them, perhaps.

Beyond the horror she felt, she did not understand. She could not understand the reason behind this destruction. King’s Landing was now burning, but not their army. All those who took shelter in the Dragonpit or inside the Sept were now dead, but not Stannis, protected by his men. The few soldiers who escorted them and were too close to the explosions died, but not the generals. It served no use. It only destroyed the city.

 

“It was the Mad King’s plan,” Oberyn whispered, still holding her close to him. “Burn the city before Robert Baratheon’s troops could enter it.

\- Tywin Lannister would have never ordered such a thing. Who…” She stared at the never-ending flames. “Who could be so…

\- It does not matter, Shara.”

 

She shook her head but quieted. He was wrong, it mattered. Someone had taken this decision, and this someone had just turned Tywin Lannister’s hopes of victory to ashes. _Who?_ She straightened when she heard Stannis calling them. If he were as shocked as they were, he did not let it show and ordered the soldiers still alive to send the signal to the Tyrells and the rest of the troops to enter King’s Landing. Their horses had ran away when the explosions began, of course, so he ordered for others to be fetched.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked them once they joined him. “Whoever did that…

\- Is not Tywin Lannister,” Shara repeated, her voice slightly hoarse. “And just signed their own death warrant, if they are still alive.

\- We owe them thanks, then. For now, we need to reach the Red Keep.”

 

It was useless to insist. This kind of question would matter once the city taken, not before. She nodded, tensely smiled and thanked the soldier who handed her another mount. This time, they let the cavalry and a part of the infantry precede them.

A rumour of disappointment washed over the men when they understood the fights were already over within the Keep. The signal sounded, the Tyrell soldiers who had remained alongside their queen and their fellows had turned against the rest of the castle’s guards and had opened the Red Keep’s gates to Stannis’ army. _Why is everything going so strangely?_ She did not remember it was part of the plan. _Unless it indeed was not part of it._ Whoever just decided to blow up the entire city was as much of a strategist as she was a musician, and it meant not at all. A bad strategist, understanding the gravity of the situation, could have tried to get rid of anyone likely to turn against them and the Tyrells came first. But then, what was Tywin doing and why was he not taking the decisions? _Who is taking the decisions?_ The question was playing in a loop in her head, but she found no answer to it.

Until she remembered Cersei’s infamous enmity for the Tyrells. Her reaction after Joffrey’s death. What she heard about her, the rumours on her account. Her involvement in the late king Robert’s death. Her hasty decisions before Tywin arrived in King’s Landing. _Not to mention Jaime and the rest of it._ She took a deep breath and realized that their victory, now certain, would quickly taste bitter if they did not act very quickly. _She will slip from our hands._ She headed to Oberyn and used the brouhaha of the soldiers to lean to him. He frowned, looking concerned again.

 

“Cersei did that,” she said. She continued before he could. “I know not how she managed to, I know not why, but she managed to contradict Tywin’s orders.

\- It does not matter, Shara, as long as we are not…

\- You do not understand.” She motioned the Keep’s figure, as they got closer to it with every step. “If she indeed took the decision, do you really think she will let us take her alive? Remember the rumours, after the Battle of the Blackwater. Remember what she was about to do when Tywin entered the Keep.”

 

He stared at her, unsettled, until his eyes lighted up. He paused, and closed them. Of course he remembered – the rumour had spread around the entire kingdom. The queen was about to kill her own son, about to kill herself not to be taken alive. _She will kill herself._ She would kill _him_ , this little king that never did anything except being born son of this woman. She was going to warn Stannis when a strange rumble rose again amongst the soldiers. She frowned and tried to see over the crowd’s heads. When she saw them all raise their heads, she understood something was going on on the Red Keep’s walls.

She gulped and gritted her teeth when she saw what they had seen. Bodies, hanging from the top of the walls – from the Traitor’s Walk. She would not have been able to say who they were if they were not all wrapped up in a Martell banner. She felt Oberyn tensing. He made it through the crowd, pushing anyone in the way, without giving Stannis the time to follow him until he reached the walls. They were his men, those who escorted him to King’s Landing for Joffrey’s wedding and could not leave the city once Tywin understood he had taken his own wife away. _We are walking on horrors galore today,_ she mused while looking at these bodies dangling and slowly swaying, blew off by the slight breeze that soothed the last flames of the wildfire. They had been there for quite some times already, judging by their state. Birds had flied away with the first explosions but they had already feasted on them. She shrugged off another fit of nausea and followed Stannis when he pushed his way through the crowd too.

But it was not over – _of course,_ it was not. The gate was indeed open, but there was another body nailed on one of the two immense doors. And the prince of Dorne was staring at it, quiet. A headless body, almost entirely decayed. A quasi-skeleton kept together by a few pieces of flesh and nerves. _Ellaria._ Her heart tightened, but it was not of shock anymore, and it was not horror. She had lost all possibility to be shocked, terrified or horrified for a lifetime. _We should have seen this before the wildfire plot happened,_ she understood. And before the soldiers on the Keep’s walls attacked them.

If things had gone the way they were supposed to, Tywin probably would have locked them in the city and rained down wildfire on the men stationed around the city’s walls. The very few who would have entered would have been slaughtered by his men and Stannis would have been made prisoner. _But nothing happened as it was supposed to._ And here they were, staring at this shame of a spectacle.

When they indeed entered the Red Keep’s inner court, they immediately saw that the ground was littered with bodies wearing the Lannister red and gold, or the Tyrell green and gold. She counted more Lannister men, though. Here they were, the infamous men of the West. A few hours, perhaps a few minutes before, they were getting ready to ambush them. But the Tyrells had attacked them and now there was no fight left in the castle. She exchanged a glance with Stannis who nodded, satisfied. This alliance was even more profitable than he thought.

 

“Your majesty,” the officer who led the first soldiers inside the castle intervened. “We have found Margaery Tyrell and her suite. They are inside the Queen’s Ballroom, the door is kept by several of my men.

\- Cersei did not have the time to kill them all, then.

\- Many of their men died to protect them. The few that were still alive resisted before letting us enter the room.

\- Did you find Loras Tyrell?” Stannis looked at the officer for a few seconds, just enough for him to shake his head. He transferred his attention on the throne room. “Find him and put him with his sister. He is part of our agreement with the Tyrells.”

 

The man bowed and returned to the castle. Their soldiers were gradually filling up the Keep, killing the agonizing soldiers on their way to take the wounded ones to the small sept. She realized that it was all that remained of the seven gods in King’s Landing now, and wondered if they would avenge. _Maybe it amuses them, if they even exist._ When they reached the great doors of the throne room, the same soldiers opened them on the huge, silent and dark hall. Fights were still echoing around the castle and the screaming of those trapped into the ruins could still be heard, but there was not a single sound within these walls. Not a single sound, except for their horses’ hooves on the marble floor.

She had to wait for Oberyn to have jumped off his horse to be able to return to the ground. She thanked him quietly and they all walked to the throne. Even bathed in darkness, it did not take long for her to realize someone was sitting there.

 

“Cersei Lannister,” Stannis ordered powerfully in a voice that echoed all around the hall. “You lost this war. Yield and no harm shall come to you.

\- This is what you promised to the damned Lords of roses, is it not?” She was almost surprised to hear the voice echoing with Stannis’. “They betrayed us as soon as they could… I should not be surprised.

\- Only a fool or a madman would have remained your ally when the whole kingdom turned against you.

\- Prince Oberyn.” She laughed, roughly. _She is… Drunk?_ “I guess the woman by your side is the sweet Shara Arryn, my father’s whore.”

 

In other circumstances she would have replied to the insult. But it was pathetic – like the rest of Cersei Lannister’s attempt to regain control over the situation. Once close enough, they all saw that Tommen was seating on her lap. A child with a crown on his head. A child asleep on his mother’s lap. _No, not asleep._ She had killed him. She could not look away from this blond, plump kid, a kid who would have seen none of war’s horrors in a better world. In this one, he would not see anything anymore. His mother made sure of that. She was staring at them madly, a sick shine in her beautiful green eyes. She was holding a vial in her hand – half-emptied.

 

“I will not suffer Elia’s fate,” she hissed, holding her son tight against her like a girl would hold her toy after a nightmare. “You will not take me alive.

\- Sire, she is…”

 

She did not have time to finish – Cersei Lannister, the beautiful, the proud Cersei Lannister, the Lioness of Casterly Rock, the Seven Kingdoms’ queen, drunk what remained of the vial’s content. She laughed one last time, and after a few spasms, let got of it. It shattered in a crystalline sound and it was over. Shara closed her eyes for a second. _How many bodies will I see today?_

She only opened them when she heard Ser Davos walking to Stannis to announce him that Ser Jaime and Lord Tywin Lannister had been taken alive and were kept prisoner. She felt Oberyn’s arm around her shoulder, though she did not know whether he was congratulating her, reassuring her or making sure she would not collapse.

 

“And so,” he whispered for only her to hear. “This is over.

\- It is far from over. Trials will take place. Lands will be taken and given. Stannis will have to form his small Council. The city…

\- Shara.” He stopped her with a smile. “You won. You should rejoice.

\- Things could have been gone so much worse. If Tywin had…

\- He did not.”

 

She slowly nodded and abandoned any etiquette to turn and hold the prince of Dorne tight against her. There was too much blood on the ground, too much dust in the air, too many bodies in the streets to care for rumours. Now was the time of joy, of screaming in victory, of howls wishing a long life to the new king of Westeros, of the applauses that filled the throne room and clashed with the screams, the howls.

So she smiled as Stannis climbed the stairs that led to the iron throne, and applauded when he put his hand on the iron monstrosity. _We won,_ she repeated. _The war is over._ Then why was she so worried and scared of what would happen in the morrow?


	33. Last Doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end guys! I'm glad to see you like this fic, really. Truth is, I have started to write a second part a long time ago, back when I first finished writing the first part, but somehow never really managed to get on with it. With summer arriving as well, I might try to actually work on it - if you guys are interested, of course.
> 
> I'm also thinking about writing some snippets about an alternate universe where Shara remained by Tywin's side. Not a full rewriting of the fic, but some pieces of the life they might have had. And whatever future they would have brought to Westeros. But then again I don't know if you guys would be interested in reading this kind of thing, so let me know!
> 
> That's all for me! I wish you a nice read - a few chapters left, and just so you know, the one I'll post on Sunday was my favourite to write haha

She remained in the throne room for most of the day. Though the castle was not exactly dangerous, the soldiers had to make sure every Lannister soldiers were either dead or made prisoners. Those who were too close to the royal family to be left free were locked in with what remained of them. As for what happened underneath, in the city proper, every unwounded soldier was ordered to return to the Dragonpit and the Sept of Baelor to help the capital dwellers. From the throne room’s windows, Shara could see the two black holes dug by wildfire. She remained quiet before this spectacle of desolation. It was so vain – so vain that it made it all even worse. All of this had been useless. Only the people suffered. And they would be the only one to suffer.

In the midst of the general confusion and effusions of joy, a soldier came to tell her Stannis had decided to organize his coronation. They had to make sure his power was official as quickly as possible – and it meant that it had to happen tonight. She was ordered to get ready for the ceremony. A maid was expecting her in her former room of the Tower of the Hand. She searched for Oberyn to tell him, but he was already gone to greet his brother’s men. The dull worry that tightened her heart redoubled. _Will he be there tonight?_

She slowly climbed the stairs of the Tower of the Hand. She felt weak, in every meaning of the word. Was it only because of him that she could not simply rejoice in the victory? She hated the idea. She had imagined this triumph in every possible ways. She had imagined speeches, smiles, and pleasantries galore. She had spent months planning everything, controlling everything, to reach this very evening. She had seen herself climbing the stairs to the throne to receive Stannis’ public acknowledgement for her help. She had imagined herself bathed in glory before the entire world.

And there she was, standing in front of her room’s door, exhausted, body and mind distorted, regretting things had been so easy and so quick to end. Fearing the page would turn too quickly. She had done so much, lost so much to win. Why could she not relish in her own triumph? She took a deep breath before she entered the room the way she had entered her cell.

The maid she had been given was waiting there, terrified by the latest events. She ignored her at first and headed to the balcony. Night was falling over King’s Landing, but she still distinguished the ships accumulated in the bay. Stannis’ flags surrounded the Redwyne’s. A few ships were sinking already, but most of them were mostly intact. The harbour was ruined. Bodies were littering the beach, making a strange carpet of blood and death.

 

“My Lady,” she heard. “I… I do not wish to disturb you but…

\- You are been ordered to prepare me. Did you find a dress that can suit me?

\- Yes, m’Lady. I will alter it when you have it on. If you wished…

\- You need not to be so worried. No one will harm you here.”

 

 _For now at least._ She returned to the room, and saw the rough northern dress she wore disappear. She put on a dress that would have been way too large if she was not with child – a simple one, of a dark blue. The overcoat was crossed over her chest and covered the first one. It was beautiful, made of very light blue fabric covered with embroideries of silver and gold depicting complex arabesques. The collar was slightly rigid and made of refined lace. Once the maid had made sure the dress fitted correctly, she had her sit and took care of her hair.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she remembered the women who got her ready for her wedding, the gifts around her, the stones and the jewels. They were all in the great closet. She could have put the wonderful string of pearls she wore at her marriage, defying every orders of her soon-to-be husband under the laws of the men and the laws of the gods. The idea made her smile, and her maid interpreted her smile as satisfaction for the bun she was tying at the back of her head. She did not gainsay her. Once she was done with her hair and the rouge on her lips, she motioned the closet.

 

“There are a dozen of jewellery boxes in this closet. I need something that is neither red nor gold.” She watched her rummage in the furniture. She eventually clarified. “And no pearls either. It would not be… Adequate.

\- This one, m’Lady. ‘Tis the only one that is not red, not gold and not made of pearls.”

 

She turned her head. The necklace and the earrings were made of diamonds. She did not remember she received it for her marriage, unless it was one of the gifts Tywin hid from her. The kind she would have chosen to wear instead of his rubies. She nodded and let her tie it around her neck. She sighed when she realized it would have been useless to even try to hide her stomach. Even under a dozen of coats, any observer would have seen her unusual curves. This dress only made it worse.

Despite her obvious concern and despite the starkness of her look, she was still beautiful. More distant, colder than she was back when Tywin married her. She hardly recognized herself in the mirror. She felt like the last few months had hardened her and she thought it would show. But she still had the same delicate face, the same icy eyes, the same translucent skin. As if nothing happened to her, ever.

When it was time to return to the throne room, she lingered on the landing and stared at the room next to hers. The Hand’s room, the room where she had gambled with her life too many times already. The room where _everything_ was decided. She wondered if anything had changed in there, if her books were still on the bedside table. If her dresses were still inside the closet, near Tywin’s robe. But she turned away from the door. She was expected elsewhere. She was supposed to attend her triumph.

Oberyn was waiting for her downstairs. He had not changed his clothes and still wore his leather doublet. She felt the vice around her chest loosening a bit and she smiled. He took her arm and led he to the castle. They would enter the throne room via the council room – only Stannis would use the great door. At least she imagined he would.

 

“You are quiet tonight,” he finally said as they walked through the empty council room. Parchments still covered the great table. “Is something wrong?

\- No, everything is fine. We have won. Tywin Lannister is locked in the Red Keep’s gaols. The crown will be given to its only rightful bearer.

\- Indeed.” He stopped before he pushed the door that led to the throne room. “But?

\- But nothing. The war is over.”

 

She stared back at his dark eyes. It took him a few seconds to understand what she meant. His shoulders sagged and he sighed. He put a hand on her neck, avoiding the lacing, and softly stoked her jaw with his thumb. It felt good, but it felt wrong. _Will everything feel so bittersweet?_ Behind Oberyn, in the throne room, she heard voices, bits and scraps of conversation uttered too loudly. But they were out of this for a moment. For this moment, war was not over and their alliance still existed. And the future was not yet something to be feared. And the past was not yet something to regret. There was only the present – only him, only her.

 

“I am not leaving King’s Landing tomorrow, Shara. Stop worrying yourself.

\- I am not worried.” She chuckled somberly. “And I will not worry when you do leave King’s Landing in three, six months, one or two years, to never return. And I will not worry when we stop hearing from Dorne. And I will not worry either when the kid with dragons’ ships arrive by our coasts. I will not worry when King’s Landing is surrounded by her armies and yours. And when she sits on the throne before my eyes, I will not worry. When she orders my death or my exile, I will not worry either. And when I lead a counter-revolution against all of you, I will not worry when a dragon flies over the Eyries.” She paused and gulped. “And I will not worry when you try to save my life one last time as I stand for trial before the Targaryen.

\- Shara…

\- I know you want none of that. But the war is over, Oberyn. Soon you will have Tywin’s head and our alliance will be over. From then on… It will be a matter of time.”

 

She saw him lower his eyes. She was almost shocked by the sight of him – _did I ever see him lower his eyes before anyone? Before me?_ She did not have time to wonder about it, for she soon found herself drawn against his chest tightly. She should have pushed him back but she could not. If it was a matter of time, she had none to lose. They remained like this, by the candles’ light, silently promising things they never said. He planted a kiss on her forehead and held ever tighter.

She wondered, for a second, if she could abandon it all. Not attend the ceremony. Leave, head straight to Dorne and turn her back on everything. But it lasted a second. She was Shara Arryn. She had accepted the entire world’s opprobrium to survive: she had toyed with the kingdom’s future to defeat Tywin Lannister. She had travelled through half of Westeros, escaped the man ruling over it to crown Stannis Baratheon. She had plotted, struggled, lied to win her place in the sun and overthrow her father. Shara Arryn would not run away from her own triumph for the comfort of a loving man. She was made of another wood, and this wood wanted the crown to befall the man she had defended since the very beginning. This wood wanted her to be given the position she deserved. This wood needed no love; it needed no one. When he stepped away from her and darted her a heavy glance, she smiled and took his arm again. _No, I shall not run away from my own triumph._ She deserved it. She had bled too much for it. _I deserve it._ He did not insist. He had understood – what, she did not know, but he had understood.

When they walked through the door, she was almost surprised by the amount of light in the room. Every candles of every chandelier had been lighted and only the central alley had been left empty. The whole court had been placed on each side of the alley, surrounded by soldiers whose armours were still covered in blood and dust. _Decorum does not seem to matter to anyone here._ She felt eyes on her, heard whispers, but most of the courtiers did not dare raise their eyes to the throne.

Cersei was not there anymore – thank the gods. It was empty again. She walked past it and reached the chairs placed on the stand but on a lower level, and smiled to Davos Seaworth. He was supervising the whole room. He looked rather cheerful, relaxed though he could not allow himself to be distracted until Stannis wore the crown on his head. When he saw them both arrive, he quickly bowed and dismissed the squire he had told to fetch Lord Tully before the ceremony began.

 

“Let it be said that we have had a complicated day,” he sighed. “Two days, I believe, how late is it?

\- I have no idea.” Oberyn crossed his arms, searching for something in the room. “Where are our men?

\- They will enter with his majesty. He selected a dozen from each host, he wants to be surrounded by the allied armies to thank their houses.

\- This is a military parade, not a coronation,” she let out, observing the room as well. “I suppose it is adequate.

\- His majesty wants to show his power to the court before celebrating it.”

 

She nodded. She expected nothing less from him. An actual coronation would probably take place in the next few weeks, once the wounded men healed, the dead one counted, and once the trials over. The beginning of another era. Distracted, she wondered if it would not better for her to take care of the festivities’ organizations if she wanted his coronation to look like one. _The best way to lose the little support the people will give him is surely to organize another military parade._

The room continued to fill for the next few minutes. She sat on her seat, in front of Oberyn and between Lord Tully, finally arrived, and Lady Stark. _Queen?_ She had no idea. This kind of question would have to be answered at some point, but not today. She exchanged a few words with the young woman who seemed to regret not to be there when they entered the Red Keep. Shara quickly understand that Sansa Stark dreamt of seeing Cersei dead, judging by the way she glared at the throne. She had little trouble understand why.

Davos sat near the throne and silence fell on the room. The door opened on the groups of soldiers from every army. She smiled when she noticed one of her men holding her sigil high. They stopped in front of the throne and turned to her. She nodded, and gestured them to climb the stairs. They regrouped and all stood on one side of the stand. The Stark followed, then the Tully and the Tyrell. The Baratheon soldiers were the last to enter and surrounded the new king who walked through the central alley in the deepest silence. She only heard his footsteps, the clinking of his armour and his men’s. The crowd was holding their breath.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw the Red Woman entering the room via the door Oberyn and herself had used. She was holding a cushion with the late king Robert’s crown. She should not have been surprised to see her – after all, Stannis did convert to R’hllor religion and the Great Septon probably died with the rest of those sheltered in the Great Sept of Baelor. She could not help frowning. _This too is going to upset the rest of the noble houses and his people._ And the seven-pointed star stood above their head, reflected the light of the hundreds of candles around, a reminder of Westeros’ greatest faith. Once he had reached the last stair of the stand, the whole crowd stood up and Melisandre walked closer.

 

“And of course it had to be her,” Oberyn whispered at her ear. “Did no one tell him it was a bad idea?

\- You shall do it yourself when you can. Now quiet.”

 

He scoffed and she refrained from sighing. If some of his men did not take the time to clean their armour, Stannis’ shone brightly. He was wearing a long black cape wrapped around his shoulders and embroidered with the crowned stag of house Baratheon. _And this awful flaming heart._ He did cut a fine line like this, she could not deny it. But he still looked so terribly austere, so terribly stark as his eyes turned icy when he looked around the room. He got exactly what he wanted: most of the courtiers lowered their eyes immediately. But he would get his people’s support like this. Maybe their respect, but not their support. As for their love…

 

“All hail,” the Red Woman declared. “For he is chosen by the Lord of Light, Azor Ahai reborn.” _I really need to read more about this prophecy._ “The flames predicted this moment and here it is. May the Lord guide his path and give him the strength to bear the burden of his crown.” A squire walked to retrieve the cushion and she walked to Stannis, the crown in her lands. He knelt. “In His light and from his day onward, all hail Stannis of house Baratheon, first of His name, king of the Andals, of Rhoynar and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Long live the king!

\- Long live the king!”

 

She put the crown on his head and stepped away. He stood up and faced the cheering crowd before he sat and slowly put of his arms on the armrests. But the cheering and the _long live the kind_ were not powerful enough, not as powerful as they could have, should have been. The court was scared, startled by this ritual they knew nothing about. Terrified by this man, depicted as a warlord, a glorified and bloodthirsty arsonist and what he could do to them. Perhaps they regretted the meek Tommen or his mad brother already, for they did not threaten their people or traditions. After all, did they not mock Stannis Baratheon for months? She gritted her teeth. There was long road ahead before peace returned definitively and any hope of rebellion was soothed and disappeared.

It was her work to do. She was no military strategist, she did not have a big enough web of spies to pretend to become mistress of whisperers. But she knew how to predict reactions and use it wisely. It was the only reason why she was still alive and the only reason he had to include her in his small Council. Once the cheering and voices quiet, he stood up again and walked to the stairs. Her eyes followed him.

 

“The war that brought our houses, our families and our men into conflict is now over. It was not won in a day, and I did not win it alone. Every house of Westeros, the western houses excluded, supported me in this war. This alliance ended the war, and this alliance shall bring us peace again.”

 

He turned to the allied houses’ lords. They all bowed as he observed them one by one. When his eyes fell on her, she smiled and nodded. He was not too martial, and he was not threatening. Even if the atmosphere was not exactly relaxed, it was getting better and she could not expect miracle given the circumstances.

He gestured the squire to come back. He handed him a little golden thing and vanished again. _The Hand insignia_. She darted a look to Davos who straightened his posture a bit. He looked way tenser than at the beginning of the ceremony and seemed to be unsure on what to do. She smiled to him too, trying to look reassuring. His lips twisted a bit. A victory like any other.

 

“May all those present here be relieved of your concern. Swear your fealty and any act of treason you committed will be forgotten. Your lands shall remain yours and your name shall remain untouched. Your rightful titles shall remain yours as well, and passed down to your heirs. You shall again be part of the king’s peace for it is high time it returns to Westeros.” He was fidgeting with the insignia as he spoke, but his voice remained clear, imperious. She almost heard sighs of relief. “Refuse, and no such mercy shall be granted to you. Betray your oath, and everything shall be taken from you.” A shiver ran through the crowd. “Ser Davos Seaworth, please step forward.

\- Your majesty.

\- Let it be known that you shall preside over my small Council as Hand of the king.”

 

Another round of applause echoes, a bit warmer this time. She was part of it. Davos bowed deeply and stood up for Stannis to pin the insignia on his chest. She could not help thinking that it had been retrieved from Tywin Lannister a few hours ago. _It suits him better._ It looked less ominous when Davos wore it. Once calm had returned, Stannis turned to them again. It was her time to stand, but she did not even have the time to do it that he called her already. _Lady Shara Arryn, please step forward._ She did. This time, every eye was on her. She bowed as well and stood up when he told her to.

 

“Lady Shara Arryn,” he repeated, as to remind everyone of her true name. “You have been a loyal and faithful ally since the beginning of this war. You never failed me, never retreated even when facing obstacles most would have considered insurmountable. Will you honour me and join my small Council?

\- If your majesty wishes so,” she replied with a clear voice that betrayed the emotion that overwhelmed her at this moment. “Then I shall join your Council with the greatest of honour.”

 

They exchanged a quick glance and he nodded. Oh, it lasted but a second but she saw everything she was searching for in this glance. She saw pride, recognition and especially, _especially_ , admiration. It was dim, but it was there. She barely listened to the other Lords’ oath and she barely saw them receive their seat at the Council. She barely heard their titles. All she knew was the throne behind her, Stannis in front of her, the crowd of courtiers at her feet and the immense throne room echoing her triumph.

For a second she forgot Oberyn nearby. She forgot the uncertain future lying ahead for us, she forgot her child, she forgot Tywin in his cell. She forgot everything she doubted and would doubt tomorrow, and she only saw this spectacular scenery, this childhood dream come true. She only saw her own pride, her own victory, her own power. And she smiled, less for the courtiers than for herself. She continued to smile when Stannis announced that the trials would begin in the morrow and that the first would be Tywin Lannister’s himself. She barely realized that Oberyn, regardless of etiquette and any convention, had slipped his fingers between hers and held her hand tight. She simply turned her head to him and smiled. _We won once against all odds,_ she mused. _We can win away._


	34. Fate is a curious thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I've seen all your comments - messages received, I will do my best to write the AU and continue the second part. Thanks everyone!
> 
> As I wrote last time, this chapter is definitely my favourite. I hope you'll like too!

She only came back to earth when she woke up from a short sleep in her quickly prepared room, for lack of time to really prepare her former apartments. Seating on the edge of her bed, she realized the amount of decisions that would have to be taken in the next two days. They had just decided to keep the armies inside and outside the city, if only for the soldiers to help rebuild the city and because the City Watch was as good as gone. They could not allow the capital to remain in such a state of disarray and, even more importantly, they could not let it be roamed by criminals and rats, drawn by the smell of blood and bringing diseases with them. A few days from now, she would send Lord Royce back to the Eyries with the fake will and order him to disclose it to the entire Vale – it was high time to force Baelish out of her lands. Given her position, he could hardly resist.

Even more important than all that, and the sheer thought was paralyzing, Tywin Lannister’s trial had been set to the evening. Stannis wanted to make an example and treat the rest of House Lannister and their allies in a more discreet manner. As she was getting ready with her maid, she realized she had only a few hours left to talk to him before he was condemned to death. The idea tasted bittersweet. She had accounts to settle, things to say and questions to ask, if only to imprint the image of Tywin Lannister locked up in a cell in her memory.

She almost had to fight to enter the cells. _What is the point of being part of the small Council if no one obeys me?_ She eventually reached threats involving Stannis to be able to go through the guards. They babbled more or less coherent justifications, it was no place for a woman with child, the air was not good for the baby, they pretended. She frowned and they quieted. The door opened and she entered, barely thanking them. She climbed down the stairs that led to the actual cells.

They were not all that wrong. The air was acrid, as acrid as she remembered, and hot. Obscurity made none of that better, and it took her a few seconds to get used to the darkness and distinguish the prisoners. Most of them did not even look at her. The others stared in silence. She walked without looking at them – _he is at the end of the corridor_ , they said. She stopped before the last cell of the corridor, and looked at its dweller.

The dweller was already staring at her. She shivered. She thought the last few months spent away from him would have soothed her hatred for him, but it was only wishful thinking. Nothing had changed. His eyes were the same, even in the depth of a dark and dirty cell, deep into the Red Keep he ruled over a few hours before, even stripped from his array. Even now, even as a traitor to the crown, Tywin Lannister still looked calm. Still capable of controlling the situation, though he had lost all control over his life. As if he did not know his death was coming and he had lost. _Oh but he knows._ Of course he did – he was too clear-headed to ignore it. She straightened her posture and walked to the bars. He was seating on the only furniture of the cell – a bench. She cleared her throat.

 

“Lord Tywin,” she greeted him in her most courteous voice. “It has been a while since the last time we saw each other.

\- Indeed, my Lady.

\- And an even greater while since I last saw these cells.

\- You should have never left them alive.

\- It is a bit late to realize it.”

 

She smiled. It felt like returning to the fool’s game they were playing after he took her out of her prison. It was way less terrifying than she had imagined it to be – way more comfortable. He simply stared, motionless, his eyes never leaving hers. He never looked at her stomach. She had no idea if it was a relief or not. The one thing she knew was that she did not fear him anymore. _Not anymore._ And for now, it was all that mattered. She was free; he was not. He seemed to realize the full extent of her confidence and slightly tilted his head.

 

“Did you come to boast, Lady Shara,” he asked. “Or are you here to apologize?

\- Boasting would be terribly vulgar. As for apologizing, I am afraid you know as well as I do that I will not.

\- You are not the kind of woman to ease your conscience with those you crushed, that is true.” His emerald eyes shone. “Of course I know. I am not this kind of man either.”

 

She raised her chin and did not lose her smile. He was trying to unsettle her, but she was not unsettled at all. She had accepted months before that she had more in common with Tywin Lannister than she had with Jon Arryn, and that the latter would probably have disavowed her given the chance. _If I had been more like my father, I would be dead._ She felt nothing about that. Nothing but satisfaction.

After all, did she not beat him at his own game, according to his own rules? She had never done anything he would have done himself, and she delighted in this certainty more than it scared her. He was right; she had come for one thing. She had questions, and would not leave without their answers.

 

“This defeat is not yours.

\- No, it is not,” he replied calmly. “It must disappoint you. You did not vanquish me as  _valiantly_ as you hoped.

\- I am only partially disappointed.” Pointless to lie. “How did she do that?

\- She talked a lot and threatened the right people.

\- Betrayed by your own blood,” she commented, raised a brown. “Once again.

\- Now you are boasting.”

 

Her voice had turned more imperious. More annoyed too. It was the height of horror, to know that betrayal was the only reason why he lost. She vaguely wondered what Cersei Lannister really thought she was doing when she ordered to light the wildfire under the city. Maybe she thought it was her only chance to stop Stannis. Maybe she thought her father’s men would not be enough. _Such a lake of faith is disturbing._ And lethal, apparently.

She realized her heart was beating too slowly when she felt her head spinning. She grabbed a bar and clung unto it not to fall. Much like when she was toying with her life during their conversations, her entire body slowed down. _I am not toying with my life._ He had no power left on her, on anyone. She smiled and released the bar. She walked around. Tywin Lannister’s eyes never left her. _Like a lion would stare at a prey he can not reach._

“I have every reason to boast,” she retorted. “You are in this cell, you will be judged. I am free and I won my war.

\- Your war? Against whom were you fighting, my Lady?

\- You.” She stared back. “You, and all your certainties regarding this war.

\- So it was a war of egos. What a noble victory, truly.

\- And then I thought you could not stand sarcasm.”

 

She was not going to let him gain the upper hand, not anymore. He scoffed and shook his head. So this is what a wounded animal looked like. He barked and groaned more than he could bite. It was a sight to behold, and though she would have never said that out loud, it was a joyous sight as well. The tables had turned. She was no longer the wounded animal with her squawking worst than her bite.

And she could not help reminiscing the worst times of their short yet trying marriage. This doomed evening when jealousy supplanted reason. She refrained from touching her belly at the thought. The slap that scraped her cheek and scarred it for weeks. She wanted to render him a hundredfold the humiliations he put her through. _My sheer presence is a good enough humiliation for now._

 

“You thought Stannis could not unite the kingdom against you,” she continued calmly. “The entirety of Westeros supports his claim to the throne. You thought you had the North on tight leash. The Starks are lords of the North again. You thought the Tyrells would remain your allies. Yet they turned to us as soon as they realized you were weak.

\- Come now, Shara.” He narrowed his eyes. “You do not believe a word of what you just said. Wait six months, a year at most, and let us see if Westeros is still united. Sansa Stark took the North back, but what will this pretty little fool do with it? As for the Tyrells… When Daenerys Targaryen will demand Stannis’ throne, they will join the Dornish against him. And against you.”

 

She chuckled. He was not wrong – he was even right, on all fronts. She had no idea what future held for them, especially the distant future. The Targaryen girl was a gigantic cloud on the horizon and she had very little faith in the Tyrells. But she never thought things would be easy, or that this war would end all wars. _And still these wars will be Stannis’, not Tywin’s._

 

“As for Stannis Baratheon… You said yourself that he would probably be a mediocre king. And yet you rejoice in his success. Is that all there is to your great victory? Mediocrity and an uncertain future?

\- I also said there was hardly any better alternative.” She smiled. “So yes, I do rejoice in his success against you.

\- It matters very little to you that _he_ beat me. You are boasting, Lady Shara, regardless of what you pretend, because you think _you_ beat me.

\- A man once told me that I was like my father’s sword,” she retorted, slowly. “A decorated weapon but a sharp one nonetheless, wielded by the right hand.”

 

She saw the shadow of a smile floating on his lips. Hers grew wider. Nothing had changed. It was just like back then, in the Hand’s apartments; these endless sparring matches that neither him nor her won. Matches that suddenly stopped when he chose violence over the little respect that had appeared between them. _If things had gone differently…_ If Oberyn Martell had not entered the game, if all these opportunities had not existed… In another world where Stannis Baratheon would have fallen earlier, wiped off the map by the Lannister’s storm, this respect could have lived on. And maybe the weapon she was would have switched hands – maybe Tywin’s best interests would have eventually become hers.

It was not a possibility she often thought about. The sheer idea seemed vile, too despicable to even consider these last few months when she only remembered the very last days of her captivity in the Hand’s apartments. But things could have been different. Very different.

 

“The same man,” she continued, shrugging off these thoughts. “Then admitted that he did not know what I was searching for, though he was certain it was not what Stannis Baratheon wanted.

\- Was this man right?

\- Only partly. Stannis Baratheon wanted the crown because he considered it his duty as brother of the late king Robert Baratheon and as father of his daughter.” She rested on the bars, for no reason other than to get closer to him. “It is indeed not what I was searching for.

\- Was it his acknowledgment you were searching for?” He shook his head. “No. Only the weak strive for approbation.

\- There is a great difference between approbation and acknowledgement, my Lord.”

 

There was a silence. He frowned and sat a bit straighter, still at the other side of the cell. _He will not move._ She let silence linger. She could have continued but there was no use. _I am not asking the questions I wanted to ask him,_ she realized. She wanted to know what his original plan was, what he wanted to do with the wildfire, why there were so little men on King’s Landing’s walls and so many on the Red Keep’s. But suddenly these questions sounded so dreadfully futile, factual. They did not matter – war was over.

What mattered what her and him, the prejudices they had on each other. The tables had turned but he was still Tywin Lannister, the Great Lion of the Rock, the man who survived four kings and ruled in their shadows his entire life. And she was still Shara Arryn, the traitor who should have died the very day Stannis Baratheon lost the Battle of the Blackwater, the schemer with eyes and heart of ice. They were still the same dangerous duo. Nothing had changed.

 

“So there it is. Acknowledgement.” He slowly nodded, as if trying to make sense of the concept. “The kingdom can think whatever it wants, as long as it kneels before you and heed your every word.

\- You know that as well as I do.” They were both speaking in a hushed voice now. As if speaking for a secret known to them only. “You used to strive for that too. And then you got it.

\- Why did you choose Stannis Baratheon for that?

\- Who else could I have chosen? You?”

 

She had uttered the last word in a breath. He smiled again. _I never saw this many smiles on his lips,_ she mused. Why did it not feel like talking with her deadly enemy? The entirety of her mind refused to imagine she could have become his ally – but she knew it could have happened. Maybe it _should have_ happened, but maybe too many things stood in their way.

She could not pinpoint the exact moment when she made her choice, when she completely rejected this possibility. Maybe there was no exact moment, maybe things had just slowly, insensibly happened, without anyone realizing a choice has been made before it was too late. And then there was no other issue than destroy him, when there could have been another one. _Ensure his triumph._ It was crystal clear now, in the darkness of the Red Keep’s caves. She chuckled lowly.

 

“Is it not absolutely hilarious,” she asked. “That things never turn out the way they ought? I came to interrogate you on your siege strategy. To show you the full extent of my victory.

\- And yet here we are, wondering what would have happened if the weapon you are switched hands.” There a silence. “Fate is a curious thing, indeed.

\- Did you ever believe, even for a second, that you could keep me locked in this castle my whole life?

\- No, not ever. But I thought I could have _you_ believe you would never be able to escape.

\- A bitter failure.

\- As it seems.”

 

He was not bitter. It was not the worst of his failures, really – his children’s education was. Joanna’s death was. It was not the worst, but it probably was the most easily preventable failures he ever made. But her own wits had blunted his, and he gradually let her take the upper hand without realizing it. _Without me realizing it either._ Did she always have it? Since when did she have it? These were the answers she wanted from him. But she was not certain he knew any better than she did.

 

“Does Stannis Baratheon know you are here, bantering with a condemned man?” She shook her head without a word. “Does your dear Oberyn Martell?” Another nod. “Where has your cautiousness gone, my Lady? It is not so wise to anger a king.

\- His majesty cannot resent me for long. I am afraid he would soon find himself without support in his own court if he decided to dismiss me.

\- Still this pride, still this feeling to be indispensable.

\- It is not a feeling, my Lord. It is a certainty.”

 

She raised a brow. He did not reply. She turned her head to the door that led outside the cells. They would soon go to get him ready for his trial. And soon she would have to get ready as well. She turned to him again and stepped away from the bars. For the first time since she arrived, his eyes left hers and wandered on her body. As if he knew she was leaving. _Of course he does._ He better than anyone knew how long it took to condemn someone. His eyes shone again and he nodded in silence, as if satisfied by what he saw. She blinked but kept still. And quiet.

 

“You keep on saying that I lost and you won, my Lady,” he said in an even more serene voice. “Maybe I did lose this war, and maybe you won it. But as far as the two of us are concerned, I am getting exactly what I wanted.

\- You wed me to have the Vale’s support and, incidentally, our stocks of grains.” For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, she did not understand what he was hinting at. “You have none of that.

\- That much is true, but it was only short-term goal. You always had troubles imagining more than concrete considerations, my Lady.

\- Then what exactly did you want?

\- What I always desired. The Rock to remain in Lannister hands, and my house’s influence to expand still further. To the Vale, for example.”

 

She gulped and, this time, could not help touching her stomach. She refrained from stepping back, as if the wounded and caged animal would suddenly escape and attack. But Tywin Lannister did not move. Her eyes were violently gleaming in his cell’s darkness. He lowered his gaze on her hand, then stared right at her eyes again.

 

“I suppose I owe you thanks,” he continued. “Given that you are handing me this victory on a plate.

\- This child may not be yours.

\- But you know as well as I do that he is more likely mine than your Dornish prince’s. You are too heavily pregnant for him to be the father.

\- He will not bear your name.” She was losing all her confidence, stared at by those two unmoving emerald eyes. “House Lannister will die with you.

\- But he has my blood.”

 

She took a deep breath and clenched her jaw. She refused to hand him this victory – not her child’s, the victory to see her lose control. She raised her chin and smiled coldly. The spell was broken. No matter what happened during these few minutes, they were over. _It is all over._ Because she decided it was. Because she could leave, and he could not.

 

“We shall see each other tonight, Lord Tywin,” she declared. “May the Gods have mercy on you.

\- Gods have no mercy. That is why they are gods. May you remember that when you rule instead of your king.

\- May you remember that with your head on the block.”

 

She almost bowed. She kept still for a few seconds, staring at the man who haunted her nightmares still. _He is but a man,_ she remembered. As all men must die, he was going to meet the gods by tonight, or tomorrow. She stepped back and turned to the door. She did not feel any better than when she arrived – not worse either. She thought she would be able to turn a page of her life she had hated just as much as she had loved it, but she could not. And she had to accept it.

She walked past the guards without a word, and headed to the tower of the Hand. She had to put another dress on for the trial and her maid was waiting for her. She let her take care of her hair, face, clothes without a word. She felt nauseous, though she did not know whether it was the gaol’s air or the lack of sleep. She was stiff, probably due to the little horse riding she did. She refused the meal she was offered and did not manage to concentrate on the book she was trying to read.

Things did not go any better as the day reached its end. Buried in an armchair, she was feeling weaker and weaker, more and more tired as time passed. When a soldier came to seek her, it took her a while to stand and she almost collapsed once on her feet. He rushed to support her. _I am fine, I am simply tired,_ she pretended. But she was not fine and she was not simply tired. She winced when she felt her whole body suddenly scream with pain. She clung unto the poor soldier and ordered him to help her seat.

 

“Do you want me to fetch your maester, my Lady?” the boy asked, worried. “With all due respect you…

 _\- I am fine._ I simply…” She moaned when the pain returned. “I simply overworked. I still need to go to the trial, I just need… A few seconds.

\- M-My Lady, you… Your…

\- I said, I am fine.

\- Your dress, my Lady, it is…”

 

She lowered her eyes on her dress, frowning. _Oh._ Her pale-green dress was stained. Stained red. Her head started spinning and she gritted her teeth. _Fate is a curious thing,_ she remembered.

 

“Go fetch master Vyman. Do not tell anyone else, he…” She moaned again. “Hurry!”

The boy ran out of the room. She gulped and saw the stain getting bigger and bigger. _Fate is indeed a curious thing, my Lord._ When she saw the door open again and the maester rushing to her, she only found the time to cling unto his toga before she collapsed and lost consciousness.


	35. Demi-god and angry ghosts

_She knew it – she always knew it would happen sooner or later. The sheer presence of a guard at her door for seemingly no reason was enough to understand it happened. She heard him saying that her father’s state had worsened and a septon had arrived for him to receive the last rites. Her mother-in-law was with him, by his bed, with king Robert. She heard him while looking outside her window. She wondered if the world just stopped turning. She found no answer to this question. When she saw her father buried in his covers, gabbling nonsense, she thought that indeed the world must have stopped turning. He did not recognize her when she walked to his bed. He repeated, between two spasms, that the seed was strong. She thought of Stannis. He had left King’s Landing a few days before. He would never return. Things were speeding up, but she was not certain to know in which direction exactly. When it was her turn to hold the man of the old dying man Jon Arryn had become, he turned his head and stared at her eyes. He did not recognize her. She did not recognize him. The only thing he managed to say was…_

 

“My Lady, my Lady wake up!”

 

She opened her eyes and felt a wake a pain washing over her whole body. She moaned and looked around. She had no idea where she was – was it the present? Or the past? Why was everything so painful? She tried to seat but hands kept her on the mattress. Maester Vyman’s face appeared. Distorted by worry. _His hands are covered in blood,_ she noticed. _Mine?_ She felt nothing but this horrible pain that never disappeared.

She felt her heart beating faster. _Am I dying?_ She moaned, called the maester who quickly returned. He leaned over to wipe off her sweat-covered forehead. _I am so cold… And so hot._

 

“My Lady?

\- The prince…” She winced, feeling distant again. She tensed on the bed sheets. “Prince Oberyn…

\- He is at the trial. Do you…

\- Tell him to come. Please, tell him…”

 

She felt tears rushing down her face and another wave of pain hit her. She heard the maester distantly ordering for the prince to be called before slipping into unconsciousness again. It was confortable, though. Less painful. Less real.

 _The wildfire had only reached a few ships. Everything was going according to plan – Stannis Baratheon and his army would be safe. She leaned on the Traitor’s Walk wall and smiled. She wondered if she would see him enter the city or if she was going to be taken to the Queen’s ballroom with the other ladies. When she heard footsteps behind her, she sighed and turned. She was going to give some credible apology to the guards, and an explanation on why she was not with the other women when they surrounded her. She realized that those were soldiers from the West. Tywin Lannister’s men, not the king’s. She blinked and apologized. She did not have the time to utter two words; they told her her treachery had been uncovered, and that she would be locked in until the king decided what to make of her. Oh, she struggled, swore on every gods that she was guilty of no treachery, but there was no use. One of them seized her and took her to the inner court. She felt tears in her eyes and her world stopped turning, once again. She was lost, she had failed. She had been failed. Betrayed. She stopped fighting and looked at the harbour once again. Another army was swarming unto the beach. She had been beaten – she had lost everything. She only cried when she heard her cell’s door closing in a deafening crush…_ Closing or opening?

She gulped, a metallic taste in her mouth. Her vision was blurry, she did not managed to distinguish her bed’s frame from the people around her. She felt a warm hand on her forehead but did not identify its owner, she heard voices but understood nothing of what they said. She tried to talk but only let out a painful sigh. She was not even sure she hurt anymore. Everything was too distant, as if she was witnessing something from afar.

 _Everything is so painfully red…_ Her cloudy mind remembered Tywin for a second. Where was he? He would love this red. She turned her head slowly, incredible ordeal, to the one that never stopped whispering things she did not understand. He quieted when he saw it. His hand stopped caressing her forehead.

 

“Shara,” she heard. “Shara, do you hear me?

\- My Lord, she is not…

\- She is looking at me!” _Oh… Oberyn._ “Shara, you have to hold on. It is almost over.

\- Oberyn…” She did not really feel like she was talking. She tried to touch his face but her hand got through him. Or missed him. “Am I… Am I dying?

\- No, you are not. You will not.

\- How can you…” She moaned. Her vision grew even blurrier. “Oberyn…”

 

He grabbed her hand before it fell and squeezed it. She tried to focus on that, on the feeling of his hand holding hers tight. But it turned blurry as well, with the whole room around and the voices. It felt like drowning, like falling asleep when sick. Or when she collapsed of exhaustion, after hours of walking around her cell…

_It was a disaster. An unspeakable horror. None of that should have happened. She should not have been standing on the stand, in front of a bloodthirsty crowd. She should not have to see Eddard Stark, bound hands and feet, solemnly declaring that he had betrayed king Robert, and regretted it. It was ludicrous, it made no sense – the world should have stopped turning at the second when she had to witness such a pathetic spectacle. Why was she the only one to see that? Why was the queen smiling as if it were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen?_

_But it was his fault. He refused to listen. He refused to do what he had to do – he refused to disclose the truth about the Baratheon heirs. His ridiculous honour stood in his way and put him in this disastrous situation. There was nothing she could have done to stop him, nothing she could have done to help him. And she was not going to do anything to stop the obvious from happening. She never believed Joffrey when he said he would spare him or send him to the Wall. Why would he? To please his betrothed? His mother? As if he cared about what they thought. When he said he wanted to see Ned Stark’s head fall off his shoulder, she did not scream. She kept quiet. She stared at the man and managed to catch his eyes for a second. She slowly shook her head. She found no answer in him. They got him down on his knees, his head on a block, facing the crowd screaming for his blood like water in a desert. When the blade fell on his neck, she saw Sansa Stark collapsing and Cersei lower her eyes. She did not. The world had stopped turning, nothing shocked her anymore. Not even all this blood on the stand, this horrible rumbling…_

She wailed in pain, more powerfully than she thought possible. It was as if her insides were torn open and, for a second, she was awake. She understood the full horror of the situation, its monstrosity. Blood everywhere on the sheet, on her, Oberyn still holding her hand and squeezing it almost painfully, the maester shouting orders to everyone around. _It is… The Hand’s bedroom._ She recognized the dressing table, the red and gold hangings. She was lying on the Hand’s bed. She would have laughed, if things had not been so terrible.

Her throat was burning, as if she had screamed too much. _Did I scream?_ Her whole body felt on fire. She felt burning tears rushing down her cheeks. What terrified her even more was not the pain or the blood, but her conscience gradually declining as she buried herself deeper and deeper into the sheets. She felt her eyes rolling backwards, her hands tensing in an erratic manner. In the middle of this hell, she almost did not hear the wailing that echoed around. The sound was unbearable, strange, as if it did not belong here. Oberyn hand’s relaxed a bit and she heard his voice again.

 

“A boy, Shara. He is a boy.”

 

She wanted to smile, as people do when they hear this kind of news, but another flash of pain hit her and she cried again. If it was a boy, why was this not over? She felt shaken by sobs, or spasms, she could not know. She was there, but not really there. She was not certain she wanted to be there. She wanted it to stop. To stop…

_There was something ridiculous in the sight of the high figure of Tywin Lannister in front of her cell. Something ludicrous to not be able to distinguish him because his clothes were too dark, too. She could only see the Hand’s insignia on his chest catching the torches’ light. She was seating on her bench and stared at him. His hands were crossed in his back and he observed her as he would observe a prey. As a lion would observe the wounded bird he would soon feast upon. She would have stood up to face his gaze, but what for? It would not change anything to the fact that he was free to leave and she locked in, that he had won and she had lost._

_She was used to the idea of dying, to see the haughty stare of the court as she rested her head on the block. To see the razor tearing away her hair. To join his father and face his eyes. The idea was not shocking anymore. That was her life. That was the way of the world. The winners did what they wished of the losers. And when he offered her a chance to live for a few more years, she wondered if the world had just stopped turning or if it was now usual that things were so… Unusual. In what turning world would Tywin Lannister demand for her hand in marriage?_

_Worse than that, in what turning world would she accept after barely a second of hesitation? No, she had every reason to accept. She could not just die, not so young, no with so many things left to do. The world would have truly stopped turning if she had refused the offer and if, with honour but with no ounce of wits, she had preferred the executioner’s blade. She had not accepted to marry: she had accepted the hope to escape. And to survive._

 

“Two boys, Shara,” the voice continued. She still saw Tywin’s ghostly face through the bars of her cell. “They are fine. It is over.

\- Over…

\- I promise you it is. Do you want to give them a name?” The voice was too sweet to be Tywin’s. Really? “Shara?

\- Jon…

\- Jon it is, then. Another one?

\- I…” She gulped. She had thought about it, back then. But she was not so certain now she really did. “A-Alec. Oberyn… I am…

\- No, you are not.”

 

The voice was imperious. She almost had a start and turned her head. It was his face, Oberyn Martell’s face. But it did not look like him. There was so much worry in his dark eyes. It did not look like him. _Since when is he the worried one?_ Has the world stopped turning? She smiled, painfully. He smiled back. But he did not believe in it more than she did.

 

“You need to hold one. You have not won everything yet,” he continued. “You have no crown yet.

\- I am no queen…

\- Not yet, no. But you could be.

\- I am sorry…

\- Sorry for what?” He smiled against. “For worrying the entire Red Keep?”

\- No… That you love me…”

 

She did not control anything, let alone that she said. But it was so long since she realized she was the cause of all the disasters, all the hardships in the kingdom… That she was to blame if the world stopped turning when her father died. She reached for his cheek, and managed to caress it. His face was warm, so tenderly warm.

 

“You talk nonsense and you will regret that,” he said. He wanted to joke, but did not succeed. She slowly shook her head and her hand fell. She struggled not to close her eyes but they closed anyway. “Shara? Shara!”

 

_Shara! Shara! Come back here! How many times did she hear those words, back when everything was simple? Back when her world was as small as the Eyries were, kept within the long corridors, the immense spires and the four walls of her bedroom. Back when she was too young to understand what was happening. Oh, she knew that her father loved Ned and Robert very much. Her father never told anyone he loved them, and it was the reason why he did not come to see her so often – as her nurse said._

_Tired to wait, she instead usually came to him when he was home. Her father was a strong and impressive man, and it just took a frown for her to apologize for things she did not even do. Sometimes he ignored her and ordered her to return to her room. In the very last moments he spent in the Eyries, he spent his days talking with other people, a bit less strong and impressive than him, but impressive yet, and he looked worried. If she came once the conversations over, though, he softened a bit._

_This day, she had spent hours seating on the stairs, waiting for him to be done talking. When she had seen all the other men leave his workroom, she had entered and waited for him to notice her, teeny tiny thing by the great door. Oh, he saw her, but he kept her waiting to make sure she could. And she was patient. After a few minutes, he asked her if she had been eavesdropping. She shook his head. He frowned. She admitted she did listen a bit. He kept his silence a few seconds before gesturing her to sit next to him. She was too small to see what was on the table, so he helped her sit on the fable. There was a great map there, with pawns in every colour and form._

_“Do you know what that is?” he asked her. She shook her head. “It is our kingdom. We are here.” He motioned the Vale and the sky blue pawns. “The king is here, in King’s Landing._

_\- Is that a game?_

_\- No, Shara.” She saw the shadow of a smile on his lips. “But some pretend it is. The game of thrones._

_\- Is it funny?_

_\- Those who find it funny eventually lose. No, it is not a funny game. It is a dangerous game.”_

_The small girls she was frowned. Why play a game that is not funny? What was the point of these pawns, if it was not funny to move them around? Noticing her sceptical look, Jon Arryn laughed and leaned on the table to look at the map. She did the same, though she did not know why. If he did, it probably was important. There was a long silence before he spoke again._

_“But it does not mean that it is not important. It involves many things, many lives._

_\- Is that why you spend all your days here, father?_

_\- Some spend their days fighting for it,” he replied. She did not understand why people would fight over a game that is not funny. “One day, you will have to play too._

_\- I do not want to play a dangerous game, father._

_\- I am afraid you will not have much choice, Shara.”_

_He raised his eyes and looked at her. It was so rare for her to be able to talk with her father that she did not dare contradict him or ask why she would not have the choice. She simply smiled politely, the way her nurse ordered her to smile to grown-up people. He grabbed her face in his had and stoked her face a bit too harshly. She did not fight him. It was so rare that her father even touched her._

_“You cannot yet understand, you are too young. But one day you will._

_\- I can understand father, I am already very old!_

_\- It is true. You grow up.” He smiled and let go of her face. “When you play, you cannot find pleasure in it, or fun. You need to be honourable in every instant. What is our motto?_

_\- As high as honour!_

_\- Never forget it. When you play, you play as high as honour. When you win, it is honourably or it is not victory. You understand?_

_\- Yes, father. I promise I will play the way you want me to._

_\- I know you will, sweet child.”_

_He ran a hand through her curly hair. He showed her Westeros’ every region. The cold North, the sweet Reach, their beautiful Vale and the distant Iron Islands. She listened, eyes wide open, trying to remember it all. She felt like discovering great secrets, the kind only grown-up people could know. She was very proud to know that house Lannister ruled the very wealthy lands of the West and that their emblem was a golden lion. She was very proud to hear that her father had very much hope that they would help him bring back peace._

_She did not understand too well what war was, and why people fought. She simply knew that her father hated it and that it could not be a good thing if he hated it – he always knew what was right and what was wrong. She then declared that she hated war too, and that peace was the most important thing ever under her father’s approving smile. She loved when her father approved of what she did or said, and it was so rare that she was almost surprised when it happened. When I am older, she promised herself, I will be as high as honour and will behave honourably, like my father._

_At the very moment when she was going to ask what was at the other side of the map, the scenery distorted and she found herself in the Hand’s room, facing Tywin Lannister. He had the same approving look on his face. Nearby, her father was there, older, smaller, less impressive but still very much capable of making her bow with a single frown. He was staring at her. There was disappointment in his eyes, contempt. She felt her heart tightened._

_“You promised,” he said. “You promised to remain as high as honour._

_\- No one asked me.” Her voice was weak, as weak as a child’s. “I was not given any choice._

_\- I warned you it would happen. You lied. You perjured yourself._

_\- You were dead,” she cried. “And I had to survive. I had to live!_

_\- Not at all cost.”_

_She shivered. It never happened – it could not, her father was dead. Tywin Lannister smiled even more, a smile she had never seen before on his face. His eyes never left her. He wore his beautiful armour, the one he wore for his victory parade. The one that scarred her wrist. She clenched her fists._

_“I survived for revenge. To avenge you._

_\- You survived because you were scared to die,” Tywin retorted. “It is no use in lying._

_\- And so what? This world was never made for those you pretend to remain as high as honour. People like me survive and win, people like…_

_\- Me.” The former Hand of the king tilted his head. “While Ned Stark and your father died for the sake of nobility._

_\- History will remember our honour. What will it remember of you, Shara?”_

_She shook her head. She did not know what historians would say of her; she did not know what would happen to her once dead. She blinked and turned her head to the bed. It was empty. She expected to see herself lying there. Was she dead already? She felt nothing. Reality had disappeared. She lowered her eyes, and turned them to her father and Tywin Lannister. They had no moved. They are dead, she mused. Both of them. Why are they here?_

_“I am not dead,” she whispered. “Not yet._

_\- History…_

_\- History shall decide.” She looked at both men. “Maybe it will forget about you. What did you ever do, father, except lead two men to their graves? And you, Lord Lannister, except end wars begun by others?_

_\- If this world is still turning, it is because history…_

_\- This world has stopped turning years ago.”_

_She shook her head. She was going to continue when things turned blurry, dark around her. She was losing it – but it was reality, was it? Why would she lose her head in a fantasy? She tried to move but could not. She tried to open her eyes but could not. She heard voices, her names uttered, screams, but could not open her eyes. Maybe they already were? Why could she not wake up?_

_I do not want to be dead. I do not want to die. Not like this._

 


	36. A wicked game life plays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see you're worried for our dear Shara - don't worry there's more of her coming.
> 
> Regarding the Tywin AU, I am currently starting to write it. Contrary to what I thought I think it'll be more consistent in terms of chapters than just snippets of their story. I'm not sure yet, I'll see what happens along the way! I'll probably start publishing it once I'm done with this one.

 

She woke up the way a drowned person would: with a start, gasping for air. The way one would awake from a nightmare too: with the same start, searching for something, anything, to cling unto. She opened her eyes wide, short of breath, trying to find anything to cling unto. She did not understand anything, did not remember anything, but she recognized the room and it terrified her.

She wanted to sit but let out a weak moan when she even tried to move. She was so terribly weak that she barely managed to rest her head against the bed’s frame to at least see around her. She ran a hand across her face and gulped. Nothing made sense. What was she doing in Tywin Lannister’s bed? _No… Not his bed._ His former. She remembered the battle, Cersei Lannister’s defeat and suicide. _Davos’ bed._ She smiled. He just barely got the title and rights, and he immediately lost his claim for his own apartments.

 

“Glad to see you are awake, my Lady.”

 

She would have jumped if she were strong enough. She simply turned her head to the voice. Stannis Baratheon… _His majesty the king Stannis Baratheon,_ was standing by the doorway, either caught in his arrival or departure. She motioned him to enter, as if a king needed her authorization to enter his Hand’s room. He took the chair from the dressing table and sat at the end of the bed, in front of her.

He was not smiling – that would be too much to ask from the man, even crowned, even more powerful than ever. But he seemed relaxed. The image was quite surprising, but not unpleasant. _Nothing too important happened during my… Absence._ Strangely enough, this idea woke her from her half-slumber. That, and the cool wind that blew from one window to the other.

 

“Your majesty,” she greeted him with a hoarse voice. She cleared her throat. “I apologize, I am quite…

\- Tired, I suppose that is the least we can expect from you. I came to ask after you… Apparently I chose the perfect time.

\- Have I been… Absent for long?

\- Almost a week, my Lady.

 _\- A week?_ ”

 

She opened her eyes even wider. _A week?!_ She spent an entire week… Sleeping? Unconscious? She turned her eyes away and looked around her. She had not immediately noticed that the room had changed since the last time she entered it. _Rather, saw it._ The Lannister hangings had disappeared, as well as all the ironwork depicting lions. It had been stripped from any emblems and looked strangely neutral. Naked.

 _A week_ , she repeated, trying to process the information. An entire week. When she looked at the king again, he was still staring at her. He had lost most of his collectedness and had turned to his usual severe self. She could not say whether this change of behaviour reassured or worried her.

 

“According to your maester, any awakening would be something of a miracle.” _That explains his initial reaction._ “Half of the court is in mourning already.

\- Mourning? The court?

\- Apparently you matter more than you know, my Lady. The small Council missed you indeed.

\- I apologize for…

- Almost dying in childbed?”

 

 _Oh… Yes, the child._ She lowered her eyes on the sheet she was covered with. She still saw the outlines of her swollen stomach, but it was not nearly as big as it was before… That. She kept quiet for a while. She wanted to know what happened to Tywin Lannister; if the Westerlands had surrendered. If other trials took place, if there had been acquittals or if everyone had been condemned. She wanted to know everything that happened while she was unconscious, pick up where she left off her duty as a small Council’s member.

But she was not supposed to care about these questions. All that should have mattered was her child, his health, his state. Who took care of him and how. If he would grow up normally or if the complicated labour affected his health. But she did not manage to ask any of these questions. They sounded strange, foreign, as if she was not the one to ask them. _And yet I am. He is my child._

 

“Maester Vyman will tell you about all of that better than I can, but prince Oberyn took care of your sons.” _Sons? Oh… Oh, yes, there are two of them._ Stannis’ eyes darkened a bit and he frowned. “To the point where he neglected most of his duties to the crown.

\- He…” She blinked, and bit her lips. “I cannot pretend to be surprised, your majesty, but I will tell him to sit at your Council again.

\- He probably will listen to you more than he listens to his king, indeed.”

 

She heard the innuendo but refused to make anything of it. She did not want to talk about it, she was too tired for that. She would have preferred to awaken in her maester’s presence, or in anyone’s really, except Stannis’. She was already nodding off and only resisted because he was there, rightfully, and because her duty was to listen to him and give me advices. _If only Oberyn could come and end it all…_ She gradually reminisced what happened on this bed a week earlier, his worried eyes and his smile. She shrugged it all off. Not with the king.

King who still stared at her, as if searching for something in her. Or for something, period. _What he is not telling me?_ Usually, she had no troubles understanding what _his majesty the king_ Stannis hid from her – he was not the most secretive man she knew, and she more often than not knew what he wanted to tell her before he even thought about it. She was simply too exhausted to even imagine what he could want from her. Too exhausted to help him as well. He eventually continued, of course, but the silence seemed to last a lifetime.

 

“As I said, the Council missed your expertise this last week.” It was not a reproach. Simply a statement. “On matters… I cannot pretend to master.

\- Which matters, your majesty?

\- How to… Make sure the noble houses of Westeros and their people accept my accession to the throne.” She frowned when she heard the way he formulated said matter. “How to inspire loyalty and affection, as Ser Seaworth puts it.

\- Is there a problem with your people, sire?

\- None that I know of, but the first weeks are decisive. You said it yourself.”

 

She nodded with the strange feeling that Stannis was tiptoeing around the actual problem without really coming to it. If it were just a problem of political strategy, the question would have been straight and direct: how could he make sure his people would not turn against him at the first occasion, or regret their former king? She would have mentioned the crowning ceremony, or courtesy measures towards his people.

But it was not really what he wanted. She tried to sit again, failed again, but managed to push herself a bit straighter. She did not manage to think correctly when lying down and her eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. _Just talk,_ she thought while staring back. She eventually talked when she decided she could not take it any longer.

 

“Sire I am afraid I do not understand. Do you want me to give orders? Do you need my advice?

\- No, my Lady. None of that.” He cleared his throat. “In your absence, the Council decided on that matter. It is quite obvious to everyone that I am no court man and I do not understand much of what you call schemes and plots. I hardly take any interest in them and I will not pretend otherwise.

\- In my experience, your majesty, there is often a ‘but’ after this kind of statement.

\- You are this ‘but’, Lady Shara,” he replied. She blinked. “I have no wife anymore and the kingdom needs a queen. If this queen can do what I cannot, then maybe there is hope for Westeros to remain at peace.”

 

She blinked a few more times, unable to understand. _Am I asleep again?_ She lowered her eyes, looked around her. _No, this is still the Hand’s room._ And Stannis’ eyes had not moved. _Is he…_ She tried to reply several times, but could not. What could she say?

She could have replied a proud “yes”. Or shy, or humble. She could have smiled and said she was honoured to say yes. She could have done a lot of things before replying this obvious yes. _Then why am I not doing them?_ She remembered Oberyn’s face, his hand on her cheek, the way he pronounced her sons’ names. She imagined him making sure they were fine instead of sitting at the small Council. And the words remained stuck in her throat. _Imbecile,_ she admonished herself. Stannis was handing her a crown on a plate. _The_ crown. What she dreamt of her whole life without ever admitting it. And all she could think about was a man who would betray her, sooner or later. Her silence did not seem to upset Stannis, though. He simply nodded. She stammered unintelligible words before he stopped her.

 

“This may be the first time the great Shara Arryn is left speechless,” he commented. “I am not certain many men can affirm they managed to keep you silent.

\- M-Majesty I am… Honoured by this proposal.

 _\- But._ ” He smiled. Calmly. “There is also one after this kind of statement and your ‘but’ is called Oberyn Martell.

\- I…

\- One does not lie to her king, my Lady.”

 

She quieted. It was the only way not to lie, and not to say out loud that he was _her ‘but’._ She lowered her eyes. She could not refuse, not after everything she did to reach this moment. It was too late to step back – she refused to step back before the coronation.

She did not understand her own hesitation. She could become _queen of Westeros._ She deserved that, after everything she accepted to do, to say for Stannis. But she remembered everything _Oberyn_ had done for her. The battle he fought against his own brother. _Ellaria._ The promises. And all the rest, everything she refused to face but was just as real and heavy as the crown she was offered. He would betray her. But could she betray him _this way? Now?_

“What I expect from you, my Lady,” Stannis continued, breaking her torpor. “Is a queen. Not a wife.

\- I am not sure I…

\- The crown already has an heir. A princess, in the person of Shireen. She is young, but I intend her to succeed me. I want no other child.” His discomfort was almost palpable. She had never seen Stannis Barathon so uncomfortable before. “And I want no other wife.”

 

It was known that Stannis Baratheon was just as comfortable with his wife as his youngest brother was with women in general. It had nothing to do with any inclination, though – he was not very interested in his duty as husband. Obviously he fulfilled his marital duty, the existence of Shireen and the late Selyse Baratheon's miscarriages  made it clear. But he found no pleasure in it.

She was not so surprised to hear that he wishes not to impose himself this kind of obligation again, especially now that he did _not need_ to. As far as she was concerned, she _never_ imagined this kind of things would happen. She never considered Stannis Baratheon as an actual man, as her father never was and Tywin as well, until he destroyed any respect she felt for him when he eventually became one. She was going to continue when he gestured her not to. She obeyed.

 

“You are young, my Lady. Young and quite infatuated with prince Oberyn. I will not ask anything from you, except the complete and perfect loyalty you promised me.

\- I never had the intention to…

\- I know. And I know you are more than aware of Dorne’s real allegiance.” He stood up and stepped closer. “The decision is yours. I know you shall remain my most loyal advisor, however you choose.”

 

He kept still a few instants. She looked at him silently. _A compromise…_ He offered her a compromise. But even if she did accept it, it did not mean that Oberyn would. Half of treason is treason still – she knew that better than anyone. She lowered her eyes, stared at her hands. Stannis Baratheon was her king. He would remain so whatever he decision was – but it would never be more. She could be queen. She could wield more power than she ever had. She could maybe avoid the disaster lying ahead in the person of this silver-haired and purple-eyed princess. Maybe she could at least reduce their consequences. Her heart wanted to accept, then refuse, then accept.

Her mind worked flat out despite her exhaustion. Maybe she could convince Oberyn it was the only rational decision. Show him that despite everything she officially said or did, he was… She gulped. He was… _No, not now._ She took a deep breath. There was something she could do, something only she could do. Something he probably did not even think to be possible. _Yes…_ She smiled and raised her eyes again.

 

“Dare I ask his majesty for a favour?

\- You never quite hesitated before, my Lady,” he noted. “There is no use in doing it now.

\- I am more than honoured by your offer, and I accept it.” He nodded. “It is not a condition I am imposing, but rather… A gift I ask you for.”

 

She talked and he listened. He did not comment her demand, and simply nodded. She was not expecting too much resistance, but she did not think it would be _this_ easy. _Consider that as a gesture of good will,_ he said as he left the room. She looked at the door for a while. She had troubles processing everything that happened. _Queen._ Queen Shara Baratheon. She smiled. It felt like another fever-induced fantasy she was lost in. _Her majesty Shara Baratheon._ It was just like back then, when she imagined herself married with every good match of Westeros, and tried every name to find the one she preferred. _No match can equal this one._

She was falling asleep again, lost in her thought, when the door opened again. It was maester Vyman and he looked positively astounded. He rushed to her side and, without a word, checked her pulse, her breathing, the colour of her eyes. Contrary to Stannis who, despite the miracle her awakening was, did not look too shocked, the maester did not seem to understand anything of it. He sat on a stool next to her and smiled, stunned. She chuckled.

 

“So I really was as good as dead?

\- Your condition was disastrous, my Lady,” he quickly justified himself. “You lost a huge amount of blood and were delirious for days, until your fever subsided. I did not dare…

\- Worry not. You were right to be cautious.” She took a deep breath to shake herself. “His majesty said my sons are well.

\- They are in the best of health. Prince Oberyn chose their wet-nurses and supervises them personally.”

 

 _Oh, really?_ She nodded and listened to him as he explained what really happened to her. She started to bleed profusely and no one understood why. Once the twins born, it took him a few more hours to stop the bleeding. She had already lost consciousness as this point, and did not awaken before… Well, two hours before. He mentioned a birth condition she probably had, and she remembered her own mother, dead on her childbed. She was not exactly saddened by this thought. She knew close to nothing of her. She was a distant cousin of her father, and their marriage was not a love match. That was all. No one ever said anything about her. It was as if Rowena Arryn never existed and Shara Arryn simply appeared miraculously.

She barely realized Vyman had stopped talking. When she did, it is only because she sensed the full weight of his eyes on her. He had quieted in the middle of a sentence, as it seemed, and looked as if he had no idea how to finish it. _Are they really doing this on purpose?_ She was in no mood for riddles, even less than she was with Stannis. She frowned.

 

“Well?

\- I… As I said, you will probably need to remain bed-bound for a few more days. And you will face some… Irreversible consequences.

\- Which are?

\- As you know, the delivery was very difficult. It took a great toll on your body.

\- Maester,” she let out, annoyed. “Cut to the heart.

\- I am afraid you may never have any other children, my Lady.”

 

She was going to retort something, but found nothing to say. It was no good news, of course, and she understood it. In other words, this birth made her barren. _Another reason to accept Stannis’ proposal._ It was the only thing she could think of. She had received too many information in one day, and she did not manage to think them through.

She was to become queen, if she managed to ever leave this bed without bleeding out. She would never have any other children. She considered the two information. She never wanted any children – though she was not really given any choice in that matter. Was she sad? _No… No._ She did not know what to say to the distraught maester in front of her. Did the other women weep, in this kind of the situation? Her sons were in good health. Her future… _Husband?_ Yes, husband, did not want any more from her.

Her thoughts drifted. She still had no idea who her sons’ father was. No one said anything about it – as if it was not so important. Asking the poor Vyman would probably end him. He expected her to cry, obviously. _I will see them. It will be easier this way._ But she really did not feel like talking to anyone else. She needed rest, to process everything she had learned in a couple of hours.

 

“Thank you, maester Vyman,” she finally said. “Can you tell prince Oberyn that I am very much alive?

\- Of course, my Lady.

\- I need rest. Please, do not fetch him before… A few hours. I cannot talk to anyone else.

\- Very well.

\- Oh, and…” She sunk unto her bed. “When he comes, tell him to bring Jon and… Alec.”

 

He nodded. He looked worried for a few seconds before he actually left. She did not wait for the door to close to lie on the bed again. Her eyes closed and she hardly had any time to settle her thoughts – a deep, sickly sleep hit her immediately.


	37. Say we choose, but it's not choice at all

When she awakened again, the sun was still shining. She wondered whether it was because she slept very little, or because she slept through the whole day. She ran a hand across her face and tried to make sense of everything that happened. It was quite simple, in fact.

 _Stannis asked for my hand in marriage._ She was to become queen in a more or less close future. She had to tell Oberyn about it. _I have something to soothe his anger, if necessary._ Or his disappointment. She had no idea how he would react. _Last thing, I will never have any other child._ She pulled the sheets and looked at her stomach. Nothing looked different. Perhaps it was a bit painful when she moved, but that was all.

She never quite imagined how it would feel like, to be a mother. The idea always seemed ridiculous, though she knew she would become one, once married. But she never really imagined herself happy to be pregnant, happy to be surrounded by a large brood. _Lately I more often than not imagined myself dead anyway._ But still she had children now – two boys. In rude health, according to the maester. And she was to marry a man who wanted no other children. She had no reason to feel anything.

She looked around and noticed something on the bedside table. It was a sealed parchment. She recognized the royal seal and smiled. Her gift was ready. If it was not Stannis, she would have believed he was so glad to marry her that he tended to be a bit overzealous. It was obviously not true, but the idea was nice to believe. She was going to look at it when the door opened.

It was Oberyn, and he obviously did not expect her to be awakened. He walked to the bed, sighing, and took off the jacket he wore on his leather doublet. She raised a brow. He was already sitting on the chair at the end of her bed and still had no realized she was looking at him. _Do not laugh, do not laugh…_ She quietly cleared her throat. He almost jumped and raised his eyes. In the blind of an eye he was already in the passage of the bed, her hand in his. She refrained from smiling too much – she did not think she would be so happy to see him again, even though she had no idea how much time she had slept since she awakened for the first thing.

 

“Oberyn,” she chuckled. “I am fine, I already awakened once.

\- Two days ago, yes. Even Vyman feared you might have relapsed.

\- Two days?” She winced. “I really lost all notion of time.

\- It is nothing. As long as you do not fall asleep for another week.”

 

He stood to sit on the edge of the bed. She tried to sit up, as slowly as possible, and smiled. He looked tired – there were circles around his eyes and he was a bit too pale. She almost felt guilty for putting him through so much worry, but strangely flattered to see him so tender. He had not released her hand and caressed her fingers thoughtfully. She kept quiet as long as he did.

She did not know what to say. He ignored Stannis’ plans, she could tell by the wayhe acted. She cleared her throat again.

 

“Maester Vyman told me you took care of the twins and chose their wet-nurses. Thank you.

\- That was the least I could do, Shara. Stannis was not going to do it anyway.

\- He has other things to do,” she said with a smile. “Things you are supposed to help him with.

\- There are more important things than Westeros.”

 

 _I surely doubt that,_ she mused. But they did not see eye to eye on this matter, so she said none of that. He offered her a radiant smile. She smiled back, carefully. He did not seem to care and stoke her cheek.

It was not exactly rare for him to be tender. She really got used to this kind of gestures from him, lately. But it felt like he did them all, fearing that he might not be able to do it again. She tilted her head and frowned. He sat up and composed himself a bit. _Not sure if it is really better like this._

 

“The maester probably told you that he did not believe you would awaken.” She saw a shadow passing through his eyes. “I never believed him. And I was right.

\- I am sorry.

\- You need not. You did not decide to bleed out during such a difficult labour.

\- Of course not,” she granted him. “If I had known you would come, I would have asked you to bring the twins.

\- Well, if I had known you would be awake I would have taken them with me. Do you want me to…

\- No, not yet.”

 

He nodded. Silence lingered. It was a strangely comfortable silence. Usually the quiet scared her because it spoke the truth more than any lengthy speech. This one spoke nothing, except tenderness and… _And love, Shara, you need to accept that._ She refrained from biting her lips. She had to tell him of Stannis’ plan before someone else told him. It would be even worse. She was going to prepare herself when he cleared his throat and continued.

 

“Shara, I know you hate this kind of situation and conversation,” he begun. _He is right, I already hate this situation and this conversation._ “But I hated the idea of you dying before I even had the time to tell you what I need to tell you… And do what I need to do. I will not lose another woman the way I lose Ellaria. Especially not you.

\- I am here. Alive.

\- Yes you are, may the gods be praised for that. But you almost died and if you had, I would have been sent back to Dorne, away from you and away from your sons. And it would have been as if none of that ever happened. I do not want anything to believe it never happened.

\- Oberyn…” _Please, no, no…_ “I…

\- No, please, for once, say nothing. Not yet. Your sons are not mine… Not by blood anyway. But I love them like I love my own daughters already. They will not bear my name, but I want them to see me as their father.” He took her hand. It was sweaty, she felt it. “And I want you to bear my name.”

 

She kept still. Unmoving. The young girl she used to be would have fallen on his neck, but she was no longer a young girl. She gulped. She should have known – she knew. Oberyn was never married because he had Ellaria. Maybe he would have eventually married her, given the time. But he never did. She was dead before he even thought about it.

 _He loves me,_ a part of her mind whispered. _He really does._ He loved him enough to ask for her hand even though he knew that such a marriage could lead to a catastrophe in a matter of months, years at most. He loved her enough to love her sons even though they were also the sons of the man who killed his sister, his nephews and the woman he loved. She did not manage to process the information. She always felt as if she always knew that, but it was wrong. She was rendered speechless, as speechless as she was with Stannis, but for vastly different reasons. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced herself to talk.

 

“Oberyn…

\- Please, do not talk about the war, Westeros or the Targaryen girl. For once in your life, do not talk about anything but you,” he ordered her, frowning, then softening. “Or me, if you really want to.

\- Our lives would be way easier if these minor details could be set aside so easily.” She sighed and held his hand tight. “I… I love you, Oberyn. But I cannot.

\- If it is Dorne that worries you, we will find a way.

\- It is not Dorne.

\- Then what?”

 

His hand was already less gentle in hers, but he did not take it back. She continued to squeeze it. She kept quiet a few seconds, eyes darted in his. He did not look angry, not really. _He knew it would happen._ He knew her well enough to predict her reactions, especially this kind of reactions. She was not certain he would remain this calm once he knew the actual reason, though. He did not let her reply, though, and told her if it was because of her first marriage, then theirs would be completely different, and it was because of his reputation, then he would do something about it or make sure she would never know anything. She slowly shook her head, but he went on and on until she stopped him.

 

“It is not my first marriage and I do not care about your reputation. I am already betrothed to Stannis.

\- What?” He instantly quieted, and stared at her as if she had gone mad. “ _Stannis?_ Stannis Baratheon asked for your hand?

\- When I awakened. The first time.

\- Not only did he talk to you first,” he let out, his teeth gritted. “But he also obtained you hand? You had the chance to finally choose whom to marry and you chose… The crown? Your ambition? Tywin was not enough of a nightmare for you?

\- It has nothing to do with him, Oberyn.

\- What is so different between Tywin Lannister and Stannis Baratheon, except that Stannis gives you a solid crown when Tywin gave you the shadow of one?”

 

She stood it without blinking. She deserved that – of course, she deserved that. He let go of her hand and stood up to pace the room back and forth. He would have accepted her refusal without the excuse, but the sheer fact that she accepted Stannis’ proposal made his blood boil. She lowered her eyes and waited for him to calm down. When she understood that he would not, she grabbed the parchment the king had left on her bedside table. He did not even realize, even though he darted her quick look every two seconds. She could not give him the parchment just now, he would rip it up in a hundred pieces.

 

“I should have known,” he continued sombrely. “He is incapable to inspire love in his people, for he cannot even _love_ anything himself. It is only natural he turned to you. Such a beautiful woman, so young and bright, you better have her in your bed than…

\- There is no bed involved in this matter.” She frowned. “Stannis expects nothing of me, except to share his crown.

\- I always knew you would eventually wear this bloody crown, regardless of what you pretended. And if he does not even want you as his true wife, then he is even more stupid than I thought.

\- Oberyn, he is your king.

\- And you are so glad you can say it.” He rested against the frame of the bed. “I could give you a beautiful life, a _happy_  life. One in which you would _finally_ allow yourself to love something else than the kingdom, one in which your children would be mine also. But maybe I am mistaken, maybe neither your happiness nor my love matter to you.”

 

This time, she gritted her teeth as if he just slapped her. _He will leave, return to Dorne and I will never see him again._ She tensed on the parchment and forced herself to calm down. She refused to imagine this life he was talking about. She refused, because she knew it would never be real. Maybe they would happy for a time. But the time would come to open their eyes and realize everything they built was but a house of cards, blown up by winds and flames.

She thought of her sons. Maybe they would be happier with Oberyn, in Dorne, far from King’s Landing and its sickness. Maybe they would be happier paddling in the Water Gardens’ fountains with his daughters. But they would never be _his_ sons – they were Tywin Lannister’s, his last gift to his treacherous wife. The living proof that she was not made for happiness, for Dorne’s pools and laughing children. And that she would never be able to give him more children.

 

“I cannot be anyone’s true wife,” she said, in a barely audible voice. “No longer.

\- What do you mean?

\- Maester Vyman thinks this pregnancy was my last.” She raised his eyes to him. “I would not be able to give you children, Oberyn.

\- I do not want any. I wanted you. Does this idea sound so ridiculous to you?

\- No.” She smiled, softly. “No, it is beautiful idea. I want you as much as you want me, but I cannot be your wife and you cannot be my husband. In another world…

\- Why not this one?”

 

His anger had turned into a tired sadness. She felt her heart tightening even more, more than when he screamed and stormed. But he came back to her, sat again, and took her hand. She forced herself to smile. It was a beautiful idea indeed, to be called princess Shara Martell. But it would never be anything but. She reached for his jaw, the beard he had been growing lately. There were so many things she could not tell him, so many thing she did not know _how_ to say. She was never taught how to love, before he broke into her life and shook up every certainty she had. It was a horrible feeling, but she did not want him to leave her and her broken certainties alone, with no one to help her put the pieces back together.

 

“I love you, Oberyn. I think I can say that you are the only man I ever loved, and the only man I will ever love. I know you know it, and I know you pretend otherwise because I hurt you.” He did not say anything. He was listening. “And I want you to stay.

\- As what? As your jester? As the queen’s lover?

\- Since when does prince Oberyn Martell care about the court’s gibes?

\- You negotiated the right to keep me around with Stannis Baratheon?” He raised an eyebrow. “Is this marriage a simple transaction to both of you?

\- It will never be anything but. But it is not the only thing I negotiated.”

 

She took the parchment and handed it to him. He frowned and waited for a few seconds before unsealing and unrolling it. He went through it once, then twice, unable to understand. So he read it again, and again, before raising his eyes and staring at her.

She knew this look. It was the look he had when she did something insane, or something he was not expecting. She nodded, as to assure that it was real, and felt his hand squeezing hers even tighter than before.

As he read the same words over and over again, she struggled not to cry. Oberyn’s frustration had not vanished simply because he read the order, but he would not leave. Not with this look he had. Not like this. And it was terrifying and reassuring at once to know that despite everything she did and everything she refused to do, he was there, with her, and would not leave.

 

“Shara Arryn,” he eventually said, dumbfounded. “You are the least understandable woman of this world. To make me understand that you did not refuse my proposal because you do not love me you… Asked your future husband to legitimise you lover’s natural children?

\- I asked the king to legitimise the daughters of a man who saved the future queen of Westeros’ lives countless times over, indeed. After asking your brother’s approval, of course.

\- You legitimised my daughters. Daughters I had with other women.

\- And you took care of my sons,” she retorted, raised an eyebrow. “Sons I had with your worst enemy. We are more than even.”

 

He never even mentioned the idea of legitimising his daughters – he probably never believed it to be possible. Maybe he did not even thought about it at all, given the complicated relationship Dorne and the crown had. But it probably was the most beautiful gift she could have ever made, the only one able to demonstrate the full depth of what she felt for him, for lack of words to express it. His eight daughters were now bearing the Martell name, were now princesses and would only lose this title once married. And marriage would be way easier now that they were legitimised.

She thought of Doran Martell, seating on his wheeling chair. She thought of his reaction, when Stannis asked for his permission. She wondered whether he smiled, whether he understood that the demand came from her, and not from the king. She wondered if it would have consequences on Westeros’ future – consequences far more important than simply adding eight young women to house Martell of Dorne. But she could not believe it. Things could not be so easy.

 

“You will return to Dorne,” he said, in a voice that hardly veiled his emotion. “To meet them.

\- With pleasure, I will.

\- Even if you come as queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and not simply as Shara Lannister, né Arryn. Even if I will not abduct you this time.

\- I do not think Doran would appreciate another coup anyway.” She chuckled. “He hardly recovered from the first one.

\- He will never say so, but I think he does not regret it.

\- And neither do you.”

 

He smiled too and nodded. Fate was truly a curious thing. One day she was in the Eyrie, proud Lady of Vale, the second she was in King’s Landing and mourned her father. For a week she lived locked in the Tower of the Hand, and then she spent the next ones escaping in a ship. She had gone from a traitor to a queen in a matter of months. Her names had changed three times already, but no one dared to call her any other name than her maiden’s. _As high as honour._ She could not say if she still was, or if she had lost it all in the way.

Oberyn was going to add something when the door opened on a woman, holding in her arms two piles of clothes. She raised an eyebrow and saw the prince of Dorne practically jumping on his feet to retrieve the piles. She returned to her and, carefully, gave her one of them.

There was a baby in the pile of clothes. A tiny baby, still drowsy from his nap. His skin was milky, soft like satin when she caressed his small cheek. When he tiredly opened his eyed to look at her, she saw they were of different colours. One was emerald green, the other blue, barely darker than her own. _Adequate,_ she mused, remembering their father’s eyes. _Not a father. A begetter._ Their father was sitting nearby and handed her her second son.

They looked the same in every way. The same eyes, the same look, the same tuft of blond hair at the top of their head. She was not expecting to see them so quickly and she did not know how to react. She knew that they were hers. _She felt_ that they were hers. She loved them already, as of reflex. But she did not feel any wave of intense joy, the kind that every mother talked about. She was simply happy to see them at last, to hold them against her. And to realize that perhaps it was all worth it. A tiny hand escaped from the clothes and she let it grab one of her fingers with a smile. There was a small ribbon tied on his wrist. She raised a brow.

 

“I did that. I did not managed to recognize Alec from Jon, and neither did their nurses,” he explained, reaching for one of the babies’ cheek to caress. “So we tied a bracelet around Alec’s wrist.

\- I see that.

\- Those who saw them said they look like you.

\- Well, no one is going to say they look like Tywin Lannister anyway,” she scoffed. “That would be quite tasteless.

\- I must admit they already have his smile, though. Or maybe it is yours.”

 

She looked at him, pretending to be vexed. The two boys were not very smiling indeed, but she was not sure she would have been, at their stead. _Thus the resemblance._ She looked at the two of them again. That was a curious feeling too. She never felt this before, this feeling to be holding in her arms two people that depended on her and her only. It had nothing to do with her pride when she felt like the whole kingdom depended on her – it was more genuine. More profound.

As Oberyn told her everything that happened with them these last few days, she let her mind wander off a bit. She never had a true family, never had a true father, never had a mother, never had true brothers and sisters. She never imagined she could create one herself – the kingdom, the throne and the wars had replaced it all. But at this very moment, in this room, she thought that maybe, just maybe, she could combine it all. And that maybe, just maybe, King’s Landing and the Red Keep could be her family’s home for at least a time, whatever the court could say. She smiled at this beautiful idea. It was not just an idea – it was the reality. Her reality.


	38. Second to None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter you guuuuuys! I'll see at the end of this, enjoy the chapter!

It took a while before she actually recovered – way too long for her liking, really. She remained bedridden, at first, listening to maester Vyman’s orders. Oberyn brought her Alec and Jon, they talked, took care of them… The time of simple life any woman would love. Idle, familial, agreeable.

But she was not any woman and she very quickly got tired of all these useless and identical days. She asked for minutes of the small Council, but no one really knew whether or not she had to be considered as Westeros’ future queen or as a rightful member of the Council. By dint of insisting, she eventually got angry enough to order one of her maids to find a wheeling chair she could sit on to attend the councils.

It was not for lack of trying to convince her otherwise, but Oberyn eventually accepted. Even though Stannis did not get involved in this, and even though he already spent a few hours now and then talking with her, she knew he was relieved to have her back. She was too. There were a lot of things to do, and these things would not await the end of her convalescence. During her absence, others than Tywin Lannister had been executed. Most of them were bannermen of his who refused to bend the knee. The others had been stripped from their lands and titles. The luckiest had been dismissed from the court and the others, sent directly to the Wall. As for Jaime Lannister, though he was temporarily given the lead of his house, he was kept on the tight leash by the crown until she could take over. Her sons were Tywin Lannister’s heirs, and thus the future heads of house Lannister. Their… _Half-brother_ would administer the Rock until they could replace him.

Petyr Baelish’s recall to the court probably was one of the most joyous moments she ever lived. When he arrived, she was able to stand on her feet more than a few minutes, so she kept standing in front of him as Stannis questioned him. The obsequious bird poured out compliments, completely aware that his position was a dangerous one. The king hardly cared for compliments, especially his, and simply stripped him of the foolish titles he had been given. He was sent back to his tiny castle on his tiny lands in the smallest Fingers. When he protested and whined that he would not be able to see his wife anymore, she intervened. She told him to take her with him. Her mother-in-law had spent enough time pretending to rule over _her_ Vale. As for Robin, he would never be able to ever rule anything. She cared not for his future – as long as it did not involve the Vale. 

Though she had not been very involved in the awarding of lands to their allied houses, she busied herself with the state of the several granaries all around Westeros. The Reach and the Vale’s were filled to the brim and the North’s were in a relatively acceptable state, but the others had suffered and they needed to be refilled as fast as possible, even if it meant rationing the farmers. Winter was coming, she needed not Jon Snow to tell her, and they had to get ready for it.

She really did very little to prepare the double ceremony of the royal marriage and Stannis’ official coronation. _And mine too,_ she mused. She obviously tried a few dresses, jewels, but she did not even realize the big day was getting closer and closer.

She did realize it was coming when lords from all corners of the kingdom arrived. Every high lords and great ladies of Westeros were rushing to the capital and heaped up in the Red Keep. They kept it busy all days as she continued to attend the councils, pretending she was not the centrepiece of the preparations. The Sept of Baelor was still a huge pile of rubbles barely cleaned up, so there was no question of organizing the marriage and the ceremony there. Eventually the throne room was chosen – it was the only place where the whole court and the guests could all fit in.

Of course, the Great Septon baulked, but he had little say in the matter anyway. The festivities and the meal would take place in the gardens, for lack of anywhere else to organize it. Baratheon and Arryn’s banners had flourished everywhere and replaced the Lannister’s. As for the throne room, it gradually filled with high tiers, with every banner of every house from Dorne’s end to the Wall – except of course the Lannister’s.

And still everything seemed surreal. The very day of the marriage, as she found herself surrounded by every gift she had received, she almost felt like reliving the same old memory again… Except the gifts were from the right people, in the right colours. Jewels again, paintings again, beautiful carpets again and fabrics as precious as they were expensive. The same old procession of maids pulling, curling, waving, heating and braiding her hair. The same old questions she had no time to answer. The same anguish, and the same restlessness.

Everything felt familiar, and yet all felt different. The maids were not getting her ready for the gallows and she actually took the time to reassure them. She was in the queen’s apartments already, and the gifts barely fitted in there. The castle was hectic, but _for_ her, not _against_ her. This time she had her fate in her own hands – though she was quite left to her maids’ hands for now. 

They were finishing to attach the tiny braids that circled her face and could not fit into her complicated bun when the room’s doors opened. She turned her eyes, for lack of any possible head movement, and saw Oberyn by the doorway. Half of her maids cried out, outraged, while the others, used to the prince’s frequent visits, gestured them to quiet and continue their work. There were a dozen of bronze pins to put in the future queen’s hair – house Tyrell’s gift. _They are quite good sport, for a house that lost the throne._ For a second she feared it might be a trap, the same as they schemed against Joffrey, but her people had made sure they were simply head jewels.

 

“I am quite certain you should not be here, my prince,” she said as he walked to the dressing table. “Should you not be getting ready?

\- It will surely not take as long as your preparations, my Lady.

\- My Lady?

\- You are no queen yet.” He smiled, victoriously. “Let me enjoy the few hours I have left before I have to bow endlessly before you.

\- Enjoy, enjoy. It is soon over.”

 

She smiled as well. Though she knew he would never bow without quite a heavy amount of sarcasm, it did not mean that he would ever disrespect her, if only to keep up appearances. Not that anyone really ignored the true nature of their relationship, anyway.

But him standing there for no reason surprised her still. She had already received house Martell’s gift – a silk hanging, embroidered with gold and depicting Westeros. She hung it on her bed frame, but she would make sure to have it set up on a wall at soon a possible. She waited for her maids to be done with her hair to turn to Oberyn. He was holding something in her hand, something wrapped in a colourful fabric. She raised a brow and motioned him to get closer.

 

“Would a latecomer happen to have forgotten to send me a gift?

\- Oh, no. Not a latecomer,” he laughed. “More like a very good friend.

\- A very good friend, I see. Well, you probably know that I do not have that many very good friends.

\- At least you have one.” He handed her the package. “And if you had stopped mocking for at least a second, you would have opened that already.”

 

 _Well, well._ She scoffed and put it on her lap. She untied every knot one by one, since she had no idea whether the fabric was part of the gift or not. She froze when she understood what was inside, and kept still for long seconds, unable to continue to unwrap it. Even her maids had stopped fluttering around, suddenly aware of her silence. She took a deep breath before untying the last knots.

She thought she would never see this sword again. She thought Tywin had it melted when he heard of her escape, or that he gave it to some zealous knight. Or that it was lost, or destroyed. She had mourned it. And there it was. She softly unsheathed it and her heart tightened when she saw the sharp blade shining as bright as it always did. _Celestial._

“When the king had the Lannisters’ apartments emptied, he ordered to set aside anything of value,” Oberyn explained to fill the silence. “I have no idea where the jewels and clothes went, but no one knew what to do of this sword.

\- How did you know?

\- I did not. Not at first anyway. St… His majesty told me your father used to have a longsword that disappeared after his death. A falcon, wings, such a light blade…

\- Oberyn…”

 

She gulped and closed her eyes for a while. _Do not cry, you idiot. You will ruin your cast._ It was definitely not the right moment to spoil her complexion. She was to be crowned in a matter of minutes. She took a deep breath, forced herself to calm down and opened her eyes again. She weakly smiled and sheathed the blade back. The maids immediately returned to take care of her face. Some of them were already taking her dress off the closet.

 

“I really do not know what to say. It is probably the most beautiful gift I received today.

\- Doran would be offended,” he noted with a smile. “As would the Tyrells and all the others.

\- It does not matter. Your brother would understand, as for the others…

\- Your grace,” one of the servants intervened. “We cannot take care of you if you move.

\- Do you hear that, prince Oberyn? You are bothering my maids.

\- Alright, alright, I am leaving. I thought I would see the dress I shall snatch from you tonight but…”

 

She bit her lips not to burst into laughter when she heard the screams of the women around her. He forced out of the room as he was laughing out loud – she still heard him when the door closed. The youngest of the maids had blushed, while the oldest fulminating against him under their breath. She stopped moving to let them do their work, smiling slightly. The sword was still on her laps and she stoked the leather thoughtfully.

She barely managed to see herself in the mirror before they ordered her to stand to put on the several dresses, skirts and coats she had to wear the whole ceremony. The dress did not surprise her this time – he had chosen it. Stannis cared very little about this kind of details, and barely gave any order regarding the colours he wanted. No red, of course. As much gold as possible and, if she had really listened to him, just as much black. _For a marriage, really? A coronation?_  

The end result was extravagant, obviously, but refined as well. It was not as showy as the dresses she wore with Tywin Lannister, and _even less so_ as the dress she wore for her first marriage. The dress’ fabric was heavy and silvery, with golden embroideries. The over-skirt was completely golden and lined with a large grey lacing. Silver crewels covered the front and represented both the Arryn falcon and the Baratheon stag. The dress’ boat neckline was rigid and revealed her shoulders and the curved lines of her breasts. She smiled at herself in the mirror as the maids were fastening her large golden necklace. The heat discouraged her to add any sophisticated sleeves, and her arms were simply covered by long pieces of veils that almost touched the end of her dress. Autumn were there already, as well as its burning sun. It would not be long before biting cold replaced it – even in King’s Landing.

She darted a last look at her clothes, her jewels and silently nodded. They would remember that. Her dress would shine with the smallest ray of sun, as would the pins in her hair and the precious metals she was covered with – a single ray of sun would blind them all. No one would ever dare to forget who climbed on the throne with Stannis. And they would know which one of them was to be feared. Her eyes shone with pleasure and she only looked away when she asked one of her servants to tell the king she was ready.

No one would bring her to the altar. She had no parent in King’s Landing, and though Stannis accepted her liaison with Oberyn, his indulgence only went so far and he would have never accepted to let him escort her. So they decided no one would despite the usual decorum. The ceremony was a coronation more than it was a wedding anyway.

A squire eventually knocked at her door and told her everything was ready. She nodded and left her room, with a Tyrell girl to hold her train. She had completely forgotten her, and completely forgotten she had given _the honour_ of holding her train to a Tyrell kid. The other girls were waiting for her in the throne room. There could not be too many kids to hold the ridiculous length of her skirt anyway. She was almost surprised to see Stannis waiting for her by the door that led to the inner court she had to walk through to reach the throne room, though. She stopped and quickly bowed as he looked at her from head to toe. He almost smiled, and took her arm. He was not really thrilled by the ceremony, though he recognized its importance. And he was still worried by the concessions he had accepted regarding the way it would be conducted. _Under the Seven’s eyes._

The throne room’s doors opened before them as soon they reached the entrance. She raised her chin even higher and they walked in. The heat was suffocating inside, and ladies were fanning themselves restlessly – at least until they appeared. Silence fell on the room as their steps resonated on the paved ground. The tiers were eating up most of the room’s space and the central aisle was barely a few feet wide. A few feet covered by her train as soon as the girls holding it spread behind her. The High Septon was awaiting them near the throne, under the great star of the Seven. The small Council’s members were standing by the stand, Davos Seaworth in the middle, straight as a ramrod in his dark doublet. Oberyn had put on a tunic in the colours of house Martell and nodded as she looked at him. _He shall have all the time in the world to tell me how beautiful I am this evening,_ she thought as she continued to walk.

Soon they reached the High Septon and stopped before him. He pronounced the sacred words she had already heard back when the Sept of Baelor still stood. Stannis was given the Baratheon cape to cover her. She should have worn the Lannister’s, but it was obviously out of the question. The Arryn’s would have taken far too long to arrive. Though she thought the tradition would end there, the High Septon allowed them to kiss. She slightly frowned before Stannis leaned over her to plan an extremely chaste and extremely formal kiss on her cheek. _Almost feels like a fatherly kiss._ The idea was as strange as it was disturbing.

They both turned to the crowd that applauded fervently, out of respect or out of fear she could not tell. It sounded more genuine than back during the evening when they entered the Red Keep. She smiled to the girls that still very obediently held her skirt until Stannis clapped his hands to announce the beginning of the second ceremony. The only one that truly mattered. A squire retrieved the cape from her shoulders and she stepped away to join the Council’s members as Stannis climbed the stairs to the throne. He already sat on it, since his informal crowning, but propriety wanted him to wait to be _officially_ crowned to sit again. When princess Shireen climbed the stairs to join her, they both smiled at each other. She was dressed like a true little queen and she largely smiled to everyone around. _In a few weeks I went from an ice maiden to a mother of three._ She would have laughed if the circumstances had been more intimate.

The Septon stepped up as well, the new crown of Westeros in his hands. That was a concession too. Stannis had accepted to give up on the stark flaming crown he had been wearing until now and melted his brother’s. The result was quite similar to the latter, though, except that the antlers were smaller and there were no jewels anymore sealed into the valyrian steel. It was less gaudy than Robert’s – it suited its bearer.

 

“On this blessed day we stand under the god’s eyes,” the High Septon declaimed. It was his first time, and it showed. “May they bless our king in their mercy. May the Father’s justice govern his sword. May the Mother inspire him mercy and compassion for the poorest of his people. May the Warrior grant him courage and may he defend him in these perilous days. May the Smith grant him the strength to bear his heavy burden. May the Maiden guard the purity of his soul. May the Crone, who knows every man’s fate, light his way and guide him through the dark days to come. May the Stranger spare him and chase death from his path.” His lengthy speech left him almost breathless, but at least he did not stammer. “In the light of the Seven, all hail his Grace, Stannis of house Baratheon, first of His name, king of the Andals, of Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Long live the king!

\- Long live the king!”

 

She was the first to repeat these words, before the rest of the crowd followed. The Septon crowned Stannis who slowly sat on the iron throne. She smiled and was heading to the great seat put next to him when she saw the High Septon grab another crown. She blinked. He never mentioned another crown, not as far as she knew. She kept still, blessing the gods that the court was too busy chanting their _long live the king_ to notice her confusion. Stannis clapped his hands again and silence returned.

 

“Your grace,” he called her powerfully. “Please come to the throne.”

 

It took a few seconds for her to understand _she was_ the highness, and slowly walked to the throne, making sure not to step on her dress. The High Septon followed her. The crown he was holding was Stannis’ twin, in every aspect but the size. She knelt before the Septon. Stannis was already king – he had no reason to kneel before anyone.

 

“On this blessed day we stand under the god’s eyes. May they bless our queen in their mercy. May the Father…”

 

She did not listen the Seven’s blessing. She simply stood up when she felt the crown’s weight on her head. Stannis began the _long live the queen_ , as she walked to her own throne just next to his own. She put both of her arms on the armrests, looked down at this thick crowd at her feet and listened to their voices raised to celebrate _her_ victory, _her_ greatness. She turned her head to the nearest tier when it was Shireen’s turn to kneel before the High Septon and receive a small golden tiara. Oberyn proudly smiled, though his eyes were darkened by melancholy. _In another world, this wedding would have been his as well._ She did not let this though sadden her. No, never.

They heard every guest’s congratulations, one by one. She personally received congratulations for her sons from people she had never seen before. And they both replied the same way: courteous thanks, polite smile. Once the procession over, the festivities began – and Stannis retreated into silence. It was Shara’s world, not his. Once they all reached the gardens and sit at their table, she stood and acted as she would now act every day the gods would allow her: as a queen. A part she had already played for months with no one daring to say it. She took a deep breath.

 

“My nobles lords and ladies,” she declared in a strong and warm voice. “Before we feast and celebrate, I wish to have a thought for those outside these walls who are not so lucky. The leftovers of our wonderful meals shall be distributed to them, for everyone is entitled to rejoice in the kingdom’s revival.

\- It shall done, Lady wife.”

 

Stannis nodded and motioned the servants to bring the plates. The singers and artists began their acts. It had very little to do with Joffrey’s ridiculous wedding – and not only because no one would die. There were fewer dishes, no ludicrous acts and no dwarven fight. There was no reason to pour a huge amount of money in this ceremony – they had better things to make of it. She simply smoothed the edge.

It was either a happenstance or a barely disguised intention, but Oberyn was sitting right in front of her with the rest of the Dornish guests. They exchanged a long stare and a knowing smile. A lifetime before, she had started her own war in these gardens, in similar circumstances. A lifetime before, it also here that what they shared began, though none of them realized that just then. Between two conversations with Stannis about the granaries’ state, she barely took her eyes off her lover who, himself, barely exchanged words with his table companions. 

He had to wait for the first dances, once the meal over, to be able to get closer to the royal table. She shared her first dance with her royal husband, though he was so stiff that he almost stepped on her feet several times. They did not really keep pace with the music and the musicians, worried that they might offend the royal couple, somehow tried to adapt themselves to the uneven rhythm the king followed. He looked stern the whole time and she did not even dare ask him if he appreciated the dance – he _did not._ The courtiers around pretended they did not notice this disaster, and tried to hide their smiles and laughter. He sighed with relief when the music stopped and when Oberyn appeared. He bowed deeply before turning to Stannis.

 

“Would his majesty let me steal a dance with her grace the queen?

\- I would be grateful if you spared me another humiliation, prince Oberyn. Lady wife.

\- Your majesty,” she bowed before turning to Oberyn. “Steal a dance with her grace the queen, really?

\- I adapt my vocabulary.”

 

He smiled and presented her his hand. She grabbed it and they started to dance. She was neither blind nor deaf – she heard the whispers and she saw the looks. She simply did not care. Oberyn Martell was a marvellous dancer, it was one of his many talents, and she was quite skilled herself. They made an incredible duo and the musician did not have to adapt the music. Her dress hindered any sudden moves so their dance remained rather slow. He was devouring her with his eyes and it was almost improper, especially with the court around. _I can get used to it, though,_ she mused. She already did.

 

“That was austere,” he whispered. “Just as austere as you dear husband.

\- It was efficient. This wedding fools no one, and we have little time to lose in performances.

\- And the little performance there was, _you_ imposed it.

\- Now you are slanderous.” She softly spun around before putting her hand back on his shoulder. “Remember who you are talking to.

\- My queen. I can hardly forget that. You are beautiful, it is almost a waste.”

 

His eyes were sparkling. She did not need to ask what he was thinking about. There would be no bedding tonight. Stannis would _never_ have accepted to indulge in this ludicrous tradition to please the court. It was better this way, though. She did not want to find herself naked now that she was _queen._ And as there would no bedding, there would never be any marital bed. She would keep the queen’s apartments, of course, but the king would never visit her at night.

This privilege was her dancing partner’s only. Partner in dance, in escape, in war and in victory. She smiled, amused, and immediately shrugged off the dark thoughts that seized her every time she thought about him too much. Doran had congratulated her for the wedding and the coronation, of course. He was genuine… For now. Then the day would come when wedding and coronation would be distant memories. And this day would come, sooner than not. _If we have to die, then let us feast upon the days we have left._ It was all they could do.

 

“Do no be so impatient,” she scolded him playfully. “The day has just begun.

\- As your reign, you majesty.” The music stopped. He stepped aside and bowed. “Long live the queen.”

 

And Garlan Tyrell replaced him, then Edmure Tully and so many others. And in the middle of these dances, these four words echoed in her head and forced the lingering doubts she still had away from her mind. She was the queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She did not only obtained the crown through marriage – she won it. And deserved it. If she had to fight, if she had to defend her crown, then she would do it with just as much vigour and strength as she did to win it.

She could come, the Targaryen girl with her dragons and arrogance, her slave army and the traitors who shadowed her. She could take the man she loved away from her, she could trample down everything she built, she could burn to ashes the small family she had managed to build – all of that was dispensable. It was sweet as honey, but it was dispensable. She had lived her whole life without any of it. She would defend to death _her_ crown, _her_ throne, _her_ kingdom. With or without Oberyn; with or without those who called themselves allies. 

She was queen Shara Baratheon. She had brought down the almighty house Lannister. She had risen by the sweat of her brows to the iron throne. And she would bring down anyone who tried to take it from her, with fire and blood if need be. _And long live the queen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand here it is, the end of this fic! I'm glad you liked it, it's been such a while since I initially wrote it that I wasn't too sure anyone would care to read it. Thank you very much for your support throughout the updates.
> 
> As for what's to come, I'm currently working on the Tywin AU (I think I wrote something like 4 or 5 chapters already), so I'll probably upload it starting from next week. Just so you know, I will not rewrite the entirety of this fic to accommodate the AU so it will start right after chapter 8. I won't say anymore not to spoil you, but stay tuned!
> 
> As you've probably seen I've created a series. All fics related to Shara will be posted within this series to make it easier to find. I need to re-work on the second part I started a while ago before I actually post it, so don't expect it before the summer. 
> 
> Aaaah enough about my blabbering. See you next week for more Shara, this time... A bit darker.
> 
> EDIT: The 'inspired work' underneath IS the Tywin AU. Click on the link to directly go the fic! For the record, the title is King by Fear and Fables.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [King by Fear and Fables](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19148680) by [SnowF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowF/pseuds/SnowF)




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